Beyond Death
by Escriba
Summary: If "Twilight" had a twist and a different ending, what would be the repercussions for Trip and T'Pol in the Real Universe?
1. Prologue: the Beginning of the End

**Disclaimer:** Enterprise and its characters belong to CBS/Paramount. Some of the lines are taken from their corresponding episode and belong to their authors.

**Thanks:** to **Alelou**, who is conscientiously editing this story and to **Lady Rainbow**, who was the first to read the unfinished draft and encouraged me saying "Cool! You can continue it."

**Author's note:** The premise of this story is not mine, it's from **dialee** who mentioned it in one of the reviews, so if somebody likes the premise, praise dialee, not me. The carrying out of the premise, however, is mine, so if somebody wants to blame somebody for its quality, blame _me_.

The idea is: what would happen if Archer had died naturally in the "Twilight" universe? Because the parasite has some host-parasitic relationship, we could assume that if Archer died the parasite would die as well, and time would go back. But Archer would be dead. So that's how the story begins: Archer dies in the "Twilight" universe and remains dead in the RU. So the rest of the third and fourth season should happen without him.

By the way, in the beginning this story was going to be a one-shot, so I can proudly say that it's finished. Just be a little patient while the busy **Alelou** edits the rest of it.

* * *

**Prologue: the Beginning of the End**

He is dying.

There is no doubt about it.

Phlox has tried everything he can, but it's too late. Too late to save him. Too late to find a last-minute cure. Too late to regret.

The Denobulan looks at T'Pol, who is sitting in a chair near the bunk bed while she gazes at her hands on her lap. She doesn't show any expression. Her eyes are empty, but they were empty before the news. T'Pol was drained years ago. Caring for the amnesic Jonathan Archer has been a great burden, too great even for a Vulcan female.

Phlox has to admire her strength of character; she has done it with no complaint, with no resentment. She's been his caretaker, his only support, his confidante, for almost ten years.

The problem is, he doesn't remember anything about it. He remembers what happened ten years ago, just before the accident, but he can't remember what he ate yesterday. And, of course, he can't remember if he was in pain a day before, or two days before, or a month before, until the day he can't get out the bed because the agony is so profound that he can't even breathe.

T'Pol called Phlox immediately, but the damage was already done: the illness had spread inside him like a starving pack of hounds. The only thing Phlox could do was alleviate his pain.

And wait for his death.

At the back of the room is Trip. Phlox can't help it, he can't think of him as Captain Tucker. Or he couldn't before. Now, with his arms folded, his blue gaze darkened by the anguish and that weird grimace on his mouth, Phlox can't remember the usual cheerfulness in him that used to make him "Trip". His eyes are dry. Like T'Pol's. It's ironic that Archer's two greatest supports, the woman who takes care of him and his best friend, can't muster a tear for him.

Phlox wonders once more what kind of universe this is — a place so full of pain that a good man can't be cried for.

The sedatives will do their work soon. Everything will end soon.

Phlox turns away and fixes his eyes on the scans hanging on the wall. The heart beat is getting slower.

Until it's just a flat line and one long, steady tone.

And then, it's as if time stops. Just for a second. A subtle ripple passes through the room. In the twinkling of an eye Phlox goes from Archer's room on Ceti Alpha V to the_ Enterprise_'s infirmary.

Just like that.

He notices the change, at least for a heartbeat. For a moment he thinks _'Wait a minute, I was on other planet. I wasn't on Enterprise. Have I used the transporter?'_ But it doesn't last long. Any thought of Ceti Alpha V vanishes from his mind as if it never existed.

In the _Enterprise_'s infirmary, Doctor Phlox has to certify Captain Archer's death. An anomaly caught him when he tried to save T'Pol. At first Phlox had thought there were just some brain injuries, apparently provoked by a type of parasite…

Phlox pauses.

He can't remember what he was saying. Something with a parasite? Impossible. There is no parasite in Archer's body. The anomaly did something to the Captain, but Phlox hasn't been able to determine what, exactly. Captain Archer has died and he doesn't know _why_.

Phlox turns and looks at Trip and T'Pol. The blonde Commander is crying his heart out. The Vulcan Sub-Commander is very still, almost in shock.

Captain Archer's corpse is on the narrow bed. It looks extremely fragile._ 'This was a man who could make Andorians tremble,'_ Phlox thinks, _'and now he seems as dangerous as Porthos.'_

The Denobulan doctor sighs. He has to do his job.

"Time of death: 1052."

And it hits him suddenly: Captain Archer is dead.


	2. Memorial

**Memorial**

Trip wanted to make a memorable speech. He wanted to talk about his friend and captain. He wanted to make Jon proud of him, wherever he was.

But, when it came down to it, he forgets everything and ends up babbling about their old times at the Starfleet Academy. He laughs and he swallows his tears. He doesn't talk about what a great captain he was, about his missions or about his gift for command; he talks about how he stuttered when he was drunk and how he used to flirt shamelessly with his sister Elizabeth. He talks about his friend.

His friend, who is dead. Like his sister is.

When he saw Jon's corpse at the infirmary he exploded. It was like reviving that loss again. It hurt too much.

Thank heavens for T'Pol and her neuro-pressure. T'Pol and her calm voice. T'Pol and her comforting shoulder. T'Pol and her sedating company.

Trip owes her his life. If it wasn't for her, he would have given up long ago.

And it's been just a couple of days since the death.

So, after they put Captain Archer's casket into the torpedo launcher, he puts his hand on T'Pol's shoulder. She looks at him, a little startled. Trip smiles at her and tries to express to her all his gratitude with this gesture. She nods, understanding.

Trip knows the captain's casket is travelling through empty space, but he doesn't feel alone in this new existence anymore.


	3. Reparation

**Reparation**

It's her fault, all her fault. He's going to die and she's the one to blame.

When Commander Tucker told her he had a plan to stabilise the warp field, she should have stopped him. She should have seen the potential danger. But he was so thrilled and she was so in need of more speed that she didn't say no.

And now he is in a coma and she is falling apart. He can't die. Not like this. Not now. Not after the Captain.

But Phlox's idea… The Lyssarrian Prime Conclave has banned the creation of symbiots. She can't do it, can she? It's unethical. It's barbarian.

It's their only hope.

Commander Tucker is their best engineer. Without him, the _Enterprise_ will fail. Without him, Earth is condemned. Without him, she…

T'Pol sighs.

_The needs of the many…_

* * *

T'Pol thinks of Commander Tucker while Sim is confessing his love.

She thinks that he wouldn't like anything about this. She thinks he would be ashamed if he heard about it. She thinks he would be angry at her for making poor Sim feel as he feels. She thinks she has to tell him all this when he recovers. But she knows that will only happen if the operation turns out right. She knows they need Sim for that. She knows nothing about this will matter if Commander Tucker dies.

And the idea of the Commander dying isn't an idea T'Pol wants even to consider.

So she waits until Sim finishes. She tries to look convincingly strong and she says goodbye to him very politely. And when he is gone, she leans on the closed door with her head and her soul absolutely empty.

* * *

"He was going to die in a short time anyway," Phlox says.

T'Pol doesn't know if he is trying to convince her or himself.

"But we weren't going to _kill_ him," she points out.

"I'm sorry, Captain." He can't say anything more.

T'Pol feels her heart sink. If Sim lives, Commander Tucker dies; and if Commander Tucker lives, Sim dies.

It's as simple as that. It's as complicated as that.

* * *

"Will you cry, if he dies?" Sim asks her after a full quiet minute.

Of all the questions she expected following her news, that's the last one.

"Vulcans do not cry," she answers, a little too tense.

Sim cracks a smile. T'Pol can read "I don't believe you" in it.

"I love you," he says, as if his genuine confession could convince her.

"I know. I'm sorry." All her replies seem empty to her.

"Do you love _him_?"

T'Pol bows her head and is surprised to feel ashamed. "I… I don't think so. Vulcans don't feel…" She sighs. "I care for him."

"I'm not gonna die just because you _care_ for him."

T'Pol swallows. An inner shadow tries to tamper with her willpower. But she stops it by using her trained logical mind, because she knows that if she lets it free it will destroy everything she has sworn to protect.

"I'm sorry," she says again.

"It doesn't have to be like this," he pleads. "I've read about the Velandran Circe and—"

"The development of an enzyme to stop the rapid aging, yes, I've read about that too. I've even discussed it with Phlox. There is no evidence that it works."

"It's my life we are talking about!"

"It's the Commander's life too."

"I have his feelings, I have his memories. I am him."

"No, you aren't." Her harsh voice shocks him into silence. "He is in a biobed, in coma. He is dying and he needs your neural tissue."

"But I… He…"Sim breath in hard. "If Phlox can get a way to make me live longer, it'll be as if he survived."

"The possibility of your survival is minimal. On the contrary, if you allow the surgical procedure, Commander Tucker has an almost 80 percent chance of survival."

"So, numbers. That's what we are."

"No."

Her tone is firm with a slight compassion in it.

"I don't want to die," he confesses.

"An understandable sentiment."

She walks toward him because she knows physical proximity makes Humans more comfortable sometimes. "There is a Vulcan maxim: _the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few_. Your death is unfair, but necessary. It will save Earth."

T'Pol feels a sudden impulse and takes his hands in hers.

"My… Trip's parents are still there," he murmurs. "I don't want them to end op like Lizzie."

"They won't," she promises although she knows it's illogical to make such a vow.

He stares at his thumbs drawing circles on the back of her hands.

"If I asked you, _you know_, what, what would you say?"

"I would consent."

Sim smiles and T'Pol tries not to think of Commander Tucker and how _his_ smile looks even softer. She has to forget about that, so she stands on tiptoe.

But when their lips are about to touch, he stops.

"Why?" he asks, a little surprised "Why do you say yes?"

"Because I have nothing else to give you."

* * *

Trip sits very still, as if moving would break something. Maybe it would break his heart. Because if he moves it is because he can and if he can it is because a clone died for him.

Survivor's guilt.

Porthos looks sadly at him from his place at the floor. Since he lost his best friend, he's been crawling around the ship like a ghost. Trip pats his head with his undamaged hand.

The door chimes.

"Come in," he answers, although he really wants to be alone.

T'Pol enters with her hands clasped behind her back in that professional manner of hers that hides her awkwardness. After all this time, he knows how to decipher her states of mind.

"Did you want to see me, Captain?" he asks when the silence is too overwhelming.

"How… are you doing?"

"Fine… Fine…" He sighs, too tired to lie. "Considering, you know, that a clone died for me."

T'Pol nods and leans against the table opposite him. She looks very small and vulnerable and Trip feels a sudden need to embrace and protect her. Probably she would kick his ass if he tried.

"I want you to know that I had no other option," she confesses in a small voice. "If I'd have been able to cure you without creating a symbiot or if I'd have been able to save his life…"

"I know you would have." He laughs against his will. "Three years ago I wouldn't have believed you and I'd have thought you were indifferent, but now…" He looks her in the eye. "Now I know better."

Her eyes enlarge and her mouth twitches just as it does every time she has to control her emotions. He knows that, too. He knows her.

"He didn't suffer," she declares after two long and heavy breaths.

"I appreciate that."

It sounds too harsh and T'Pol's mouth twitches again.

"Was he a good… man?" he asks.

"Commander, you don't have to do this to yourself."

"Yes, I do have to."

T'Pol clenches her jaw and Trip notices her hands are gripping the desk. "He was an extraordinary human being." She swallows. "Then again, he was your clone."

Trip blinks. Wow, T'Pol has complimented him.

"He sacrificed his life for me, for the _Enterprise_," he says.

"As you would."

Trip feels his face burn and bows his head. He hears T'Pol walking toward the window.

He changes the subject. "I suppose the crew's morale is very low. After the Cap'n…"

"It's been hard," she answers, then pauses. "For this reason I've ordered "movie nights" to start up again."

Trip lifts his head and gapes. "Really?"

"Yes. I've heard that some comedy can do _wonders_ for Humans' moods."

Trip can't stop his smile.

"What about Vulcans?" he teases. "Can they be persuaded to go to this "therapeutic act"?"

"As a Captain I suppose I should attend."

"I'll save you a chair."

T'Pol turns and looks at him with an arched brow. Trip laughs hard. It feels good. Suddenly something seems to bother the Vulcan. She turns pale.

"What?" he asks.

"I… I have to tell you something…"

She stops talking.

"Yes?" he pressures her.

"I…"

For the first time in his life he can see clear doubt on her face. She's fighting against something. In the end, Vulcan logic seems to win and she recovers her usual calm demeanour. "I'm glad you survived."


	4. Experimental Terrain

**Experimental Terrain**

"He is dead," Commander Tucker says again.

"That's not… possible," Shran stutters. "When did it happen?"

Commander Tucker fails to find the right words, so T'Pol helps him.

"About two months ago. He was hit by an anomaly and didn't survive."

Shran grimaces and turns away. T'Pol can see his fits clenched and his shoulders shaking. When he turns round again, his grief is evident.

"I'm… I'm sorry for your loss." He nods as if he was trying to convince himself. "He was a good Captain, a good warrior. I feel… _felt_ honoured to be considered his friend." He inhales hard. "Our intention to help the _Enterprise_ looks even more appropriate now. We will support his legacy."

"We don't need your—"

Commander Tucker approaches her and puts his index finger on his lips to express silence. T'Pol is about to shout at him when he grabs her arm and takes her aside.

"We need their help," he whispers.

"No, we can settle any setback by ourselves."

"Don't be… _illogical_."

T'Pol is taken aback. How dare he!

"You can't let your prejudices to control you. I know you're Vulcan and I know you have a history with them, but you're Captain of the Enterprise now and I tell you we _need_ their help."

"They can't be trusted."

"I don't trust them either." He sighs and looks stern. "If it makes you feel better you can ask Malcolm to keep a discreet eye on them."

T'Pol has to nod yes. It was the only viable plan. So she swallows her preconceptions (before they swallowed her) and turns toward Shran.

"Very well, we accept any assistance you can give us."

"You won't regret it Sub— Captain." He punches his chest in a military salute. "You have my word that with our help _Enterprise_ will hunt those Xindi down. It's the least I can do for Captain Archer."

* * *

T'Pol remembers Shran's vow on the bridge, after they have disabled the _Kumari_ and destroyed the Xindi weapon. She remembers his exact words. It serves her right. _Never_ trust an Andorian. If Soval finds out she'll receive the reprimand of her life.

The comm. beeps. When she answers she discovers it's Hoshi calling from the Command Centre. The Ensign informs her they've received a transmission.

Apparently it's a transmission from the Andorian vessel.

After decoding it, they discover it's scans of the Xindi weapon. Detailed scans. At the end of the designs there is a message. From Shran. It reads. _"In Captain Archer's memory."_

T'Pol thinks that this is what humans call "irony". To receive the greatest sign of respect to her late captain from someone who should be one of her greatest enemies.

Even dead, Captain Archer can do wonders.


	5. Deception

**D****eception**

"I'm not going to do it!" Trip yells.

"It was almost entirely your plan," Travis says.

"I can't do it. I can't look any of them at their faces; even less _talking_ to them. I wish they were dead!"

"Commander, that's enough," T'Pol warns.

Trip clenches his fists and grits his teeth. He's swimming with rage, but there is something almost sedating in T'Pol's gaze.

"I would do it myself," she says, "but acting isn't one of Vulcans' areas of expertise."

"I'm afraid it isn't one of my strengths either," Travis admits. "I mean, I can lie like the best, but not to that _extend_."

"I could do it," Hoshi offers with her shy "good girl" voice. "I have a good memory, so memorizing all those false facts won't be a problem. And as for the acting… I think I can deceive Degra."

"I don't think leaving you alone with him would be a wise idea," Malcolm protests.

"Any other suggestion then, Lieutenant?" Hoshi asks, not very nicely.

"Ugh… Well… If it is of any use… I took some drama classes in my youth," Malcolm confesses, his face red.

He could say he was in truth American and the shock wouldn't be greater.

"In that case," T'Pol says, "I see no problem in assigning you the task."

Malcolm nods emphatically. His usual smirk is nicer.

Trip stands still while everyone leaves the Situation Room. He feels tired, unable to move his legs. T'Pol is the last one to pass near him. She doesn't go too far. She waits until the others are on their seats, too busy to notice them. Then she turns toward him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I know this is hard for you," she says.

"I'll survive."

"I hope so."

He smiles. He never thought he would hear that word coming from a Vulcan while he was alive.


	6. Emissary of Doom

**Notes:** Surely you've had realized by now that this story is written in snippets and that I've assumed whatever I don't say specifically is changing fron the TV show remains the same. This, however, is a long chapter, and it's filled with character study, so I hope you like it, **BnB** ;-) By the way, I know a part of it could be _controversial_, but narrative logic has led me to this point.

**Thanks:** to **Alelou**, who has helped me to improve this chapter_ a lot_.

* * *

**Emissary of Doom**

T'Pol wants Corporal Cole dead. She sees her talking with Commander Tucker, sitting at his side in the Mess Hall, her body brushing his oh so casually.

T'Pol feels a very un-Vulcan desire to rip her heart out.

But the thing is… The thing is… It's not Cole's fault. She's just showing her affection. Because she can. And Commander Tucker accepts that affection. Because he can. T'Pol is aware nothing has happened between them, but she can't deny there is a great possibility that it will. She can't blame them, of course.

But she can remind them it's against Starfleet regulations to fraternise with a subordinate.

When she finds time, that is. With her work as Captain, she hasn't have time for much anymore. Even for things like neuro-pressure sessions, meals or small talk with Trip.

Commander Tucker.

"Trip" is a nickname and Vulcans don't use nicknames. No. Never. Not even with… _friends_.

T'Pol stops in the middle of the corridor and sighs. Deceiving oneself is illogical.

There is only one option.

About ten minutes later, she is outside his cabin.

Other five minutes later, she is still outside his cabin. Her thumb is over the ring button. She wonders what she is doing there. She is his captain. It's not only inappropriate, it's very senseless. Better to leave things as they are.

T'Pol has half succeeded in convincing herself when the door opens.

"T'Pol!" Trip exclaims.

"Commander Tucker," she manages to say. "I see you intended to go out. I don't want to interrupt your plans…"

"No, no, no, it's all right. I was about to go to the gym. Stretch my legs and all that."

"I can come back any other time."

"Please, please, no! I don't mind."

They look at each other without moving.

"Do you want to come in?" he proposes.

"Yes, please."

His cabin is neat and welcoming, as always. Maybe a little too cold by T'Pol's standards.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks as he leans on the wardrobe. He always has to lean on something, she notices suddenly. "Is there something wrong in the ship? With the engines?"

Trip and his engines. "No, it has nothing to do with that."

"Then what is it?"

T'Pol can see a million alternative futures and all of them are gloomy. She chastises herself: a Vulcan doesn't speculate.

"T'Pol?"

"I've observed that you and Corporal Cole have become somewhat… _friendly_."

"Friendly."

His voice doesn't have the irritation she expected. It's more playful. In fact, he looks as if he is about to smile.

"You spend a great deal of time together," she says.

Better to be diplomatic about it.

"Well, we have a lot in common. We both come from Florida, we both grew up in the same area, we went to the same theatres, we like the same movies, the same music—"

"There is no reason to justify your behaviour," she cuts him off more harshly than she intended. "I'm your captain and I was simply suggesting you might use some discretion."

"Discretion?" he asks, apparently dumbfounded.

"In your relationship."

"We don't have any relationship. I mean, we have, but not in the sense of… What do you mean, Captain?"

"It's obvious you're attracted to each other. Or, at least, that _she_ is attracted to you."

T'Pol is horrified by the sudden teasing expression on Trip's face.

"Really? Well, that's a real ego boost." He presses his tongue against one of his mouth's sides. "Do you think she would mind if I asked her on a date?"

T'Pol calculates the required force to incapacitate him without causing irreversible damage to his genitals. "I'm sure she'll receive your proposal with delight." Before he can reply she adds: "However, as I've said, I would rather that you exercise prudence."

"Because she might break my heart?" he asks mockingly.

"No, because it's against the Starfleet policy. I don't want to have to mention it in my log."

Trip blinks several times. "What? She's a MACO," he protests.

"Technically speaking, she is acting as your subordinate."

"She's as much my subordinate as I am yours."

T'Pol notices the change in the conversation. "Meaning?" she asks suspiciously.

He gives her his trademark "Oh, c'mon, you know what I'm talking about" look.

"Commander Tucker, I warn you against making such an implication." She grits her teeth. She find it objectionable that she can lose control so easily when she talks with him. It's almost absurd.

"OK, T'Pol, forget what I've said. It's not like you're going to admit it, anyway."

The nerve of this man! She steps forward to be face to face against him and she gets ready to tell him… tell him… what?

That's then when all her energy disappears.

He is in the same spot Sim was when she told him he had to die, when he kissed her, before they…

This situation is illogical. Absolutely pointless.

Even if she indulges herself in a sexual encounter or, worse, a "romantic" relationship, it's not going to last. They're too different, too stubborn, too committed to their work. And there is the difference in life spans.

T'Pol still remembers the emptiness inside her when her father died. She'd never felt so alone.

Her father, Captain Archer, Sim… No. If Trip joined the list, it would be too much. She has to prevent the pain.

"I know you have feelings for me," she says aloud.

It's the greatest _non sequitur_ of the year.

"What?" Trip exclaims. There is a light tinge of fear in his voice.

"Sim told me."

"_What?_"

She has to be as precise and cold as a surgeon.

"He told me he loved me. I'm aware this has to be an overstatement due to his lack of experience with such emotions, but the main idea remains."

"What does that have to do with anything?" His uneasiness is evident.

"He had your feelings," she says matter-of-factly.

"And because he told you he lov— liked you, I have to feel the same."

"Essentially."

Trip laughs. The laugh borders hysteria. "That's nonsense. He was… What? Ten days at the time?" He laughs again. "It's what you say, he had no experience. He just expressed some teenage feelings to the first attractive woman he met."

He grimaces right after he says "attractive".

"He specifically told me it wasn't just some type of _crush_."

"How could he know?"

"And I wasn't the first woman he met," she goes on. "There is Ensign Sato, Crewman Taylor… or Corporal Cole."

"Well, you know, that uniform of yours is quite revealing."

T'Pol can recognize desperation when she hears it. She just stares him down.

"OK, maybe, maybe there is a little unimportant, insignificant kind of attraction," he admits, "but it's absolutely understandable. I mean, I'm a man, you're a woman, we are in the same ship, we spend a many hours together… There is always, you know, a light tension in any male-female relationships. But I'm a professional, and I can control myself."

T'Pol feels the impulse to remind him the fact that he was wondering about inviting Corporal Cole on a date some minutes ago. But that's not what she had planned. "So you're in fact attracted to me," she states. "Just as he said."

Trip's face blanches. "He really told you he loved you."

"Yes, he was standing right there."

Trip moves off the wardrobe. He is clearly uneasy. "He just came here and…"

"No. I was the one to visit him."

Trip pales even more. His skin is like tissue paper.

"I had to inform him about Phlox's discovery," she explains calmly. "The fact that he wasn't going to survive the transplant."

Trip gasps. There is an accusatory glare in his eyes. "So you told him he was going to die and he confessed his love," he says, and his voice is so bitter that she takes a step back.

"That is correct."

He shows his teeth. It isn't a smile, not really; it looks more like a wince. "I bet you sent him packing."

"That would have been extremely rude."

"Then what did you do?"

She looks at the bunk bed, just for a second, but long enough for Trip to make the logical deduction.

And then he does something that disturbs T'Pol. She, who thought she had seen all the faces Trip was capable of showing, is astonished to witness a complete lack of expression. Any Vulcan would kill for it. It is like a mask.

His blue gaze goes through her.

"Why did you do it?" he asks at last, his voice hollow.

She wants to answer: "Because I asked him to die and it was the least (and the only thing) I could do for him. Because although he sounded like you, smiled like you, _smelled_ like you, he wasn't you and I wanted _you_ to survive. But now surviving isn't enough. Because sometimes I wake up with his lingering presence and other times I long for his touch, which is in fact your touch. And it's like playing chess with myself. And I know that if I yield to this emotion, if I initiate a romantic relationship with you, it will strengthen this … _bond_. But you will die before me, long before me. And that will destroy me. Because after finding somebody to share my life with, your loss will be unbearable. Because after being with you, I don't want to be alone. Not again. Not like I've been all my life."

T'Pol doesn't tell him all this, of course. The truth can hurt, but not as much as seeing him die.

"He asked me and I didn't find any logical reason to say no," she says.

It's the last nail in the coffin. From now on any chance of a relationship between them is over. It's for the best. That's what she tells herself, over and over again.

Trip hasn't moved during all this time. He's like a sculpture. "If you'll excuse me, _Captain_, I want to be alone."

T'Pol nods her head and complies with his request.

The corridor is as cold as a morgue.

* * *

"And now I don't want to see her ever again and when I have to spend more than two seconds around her I want to cry," Trip is saying.

Nobody is going to answer him, but he imagines Jon's friendly face and his encouraging smile.

These have been the worst two days in a very long time and after all that's happened, he isn't sure he has the energy to face two more. He knew T'Pol could be cold and hard, that dreaming of a possible romantic relationship with her was, at the least, naïve, but what she told him the other night had been too much.

And the way she had done it. It was as if she was trying to be as hateful as she could.

She had sex with Sim. How could she?

Better if he doesn't think about that. Every time the idea circles his mind (with digital images and Dolby surround sound) he ends up wanting to puke.

And still… And still… Yes, his heart is hers. He dreams about her -- about her fine eyes, and her full lips, and her soft voice, and her silky skin, and her… He even has daydreams about her. He is at his job and _bam!_ she's right in front of him with the most miserable expression he's ever seen in her or in any other woman.

He's losing his mind.

"Well, Cap'n, that's mostly what happened since you… left us," Trip says aloud in the empty cabin. "We've tried to carry on the mission as well as we've could. I think things would go better with you here, though." He looks at the half-empty glass in his hand and smiles. "I miss you, Jon."

The cabin's door opens suddenly. T'Pol appears on the threshold and freezes the instant she sees him. "Commander Tucker, I didn't know you were here."

She's always been excellent at recovering her composure.

"_Captain_ T'Pol."

She makes the slightest wince. Trip feels an inner self-satisfaction; it feels good to make her suffer. She stares at him, all eyes in a pale face. He expects his cold demeanour will chase her out.

But his hopes are dashed.

T'Pol isn't just capable and as stubborn as a mule, she's the bravest woman he's ever met. It amazes him. _She_ amazes him. People think he likes her for her pretty face or her attractive body, but no, he likes her because she is intelligent and bold, because she can face any obstacle and because bantering with her is almost a sensual experience.

He had to think of that, didn't he?

Meanwhile, T'Pol gets into the cabin with her hands clasped behind her back. She's tense and her expression wavers between disgust and sorrow.

Sorrow? Nah… It's just his imagination.

"I presumed you'd be at the social gathering," she says as she stands at his side.

"I was, but I decided to come here."

He can sense the question "why?" coming from her, even if she doesn't say it aloud.

"I forgot the anniversary," he explains.

She looks at him with that lovely face of masked astonishment.

"You were going to ask why I was here," he says. "We are so overwhelmed by work that I forgot the Anniversary."

Another silent question from her.

"It's been two months since the Cap'n passed over," he elaborates.

"Yes."

Trip nods sombrely and takes a sip of his whisky. He's not going to ask why she's there. No. He's not going to do it. Because asking would lead to an answer and this to another question which would lead to another reply and if he wasn't careful they'd end in a conversation. So…

"And why are you here?" he asks.

He's such a fool.

She looks hesitant. Her gaze wanders. Her mouth twitches, just a little.

"I come here sometimes, to be alone, to… meditate. It helps me reason out how the Captain would proceed in a similar situation."

"That doesn't seem very Vulcan."

Now she looks as if she's trying to swallow a porcupine.

"I've come to the conclusion that _Enterprise_ needs a Human captain, not a Vulcan one." She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, then she sighs. "Coming here gives me a different perspective."

Trip twirls the whisky. He should get out, but her appearance is so depressing he can't leave her alone. Why? He's afraid to answer. "But why have you come tonight?" he insists.

Silence. Like an imaginary wall between desire and reason. Until T'Pol decides to break it. "It's the Terran New Year. Everyone was making the so-called "New Year's resolutions and…" She stops.

Trip looks at her. A faint green covers her cheeks. Is she _blushing_?

"The Captain used to say that he had a New Year's tradition." She shrugs with just one shoulder. It's so subtle that Trip can't be sure he has seen it. "He said that he filled a glass of whisky and made a toast in memory of the ones who weren't here."

How can she be so detestable and then do something so absolutely wonderful?

"So you have come here to fulfil his tradition?"

The green is more evident now. Oh, yes, she's blushing. "I'm the Captain at present," she answers.

Trip nods, unsure of what to say. He is insecure around her since her confession. Trip thought he knew her, but her words and her behaviour lately have proved him wrong. She _acts_ as if she's trying to push him away, but he doesn't _feel_ like that. It's the most frustrating sensation. So he sighs and approaches the mini-bar to pour her a glass of whisky. She takes it with a slight hesitation. Trip extends his glass and offers a toast: "To the ones who aren't here."

T'Pol arches an eyebrow, but emulates him. "To the ones who aren't here," she repeats in a low voice.

Trip nods approvingly and drinks all his whisky down in one gulp. T'Pol looks at her beverage, sniffs it and, after a pause, takes a little sip. She blinks very fast and her nostrils dilate because of the strong taste. Trip hates himself for considering it cute.

"You don't have to drink all of it if you don't want to, _Captain_," he says when he sees how she seems to ponder her next sip.

She flinches a little at hearing the harsh tone in her rank. Trip sighs again. He likes to make her suffer, but he despises it in himself at the same time. Maybe he can let it go. It's New Year, after all, a time of renewal. A time to… And then he remembers.

"Oh, I can't believe I forgot," he mumbles as he walks toward Archer's wardrobe and begins to inspect it.

"If you don't mind telling me, Commander, what are you searching for?"

Trip takes out some packages in shiny gift wrap and drops them on the bed.

"The Cap'n's Christmas presents for us," he explains. "It was going to be… a surprise." He looks at her, blinking away the tears. "For the first time he was going to give you one. Look! It's, it's here. Let me see… Yes, this is it!"

He tosses the rectangular package at her. She captures it in mid-air with one hand. Then she inspects it.

"You… ummm… You're supposed to open it. You know that, don't you?"

T'Pol gives him a very long stare. Trip begins to feel his uniform's collar strangling him. Apparently happy with his discomfort, she leaves her glass on a nearby shelf and, with all the calm of the universe, she unwraps the gift. Of course, because she's Vulcan, she uses great care and does it very slowly, trying not to tear the paper. Trip needs all his strength to prevent himself from taking the present and opening it furiously.

At last, she removes the gift wrap and sees the actual present.

It's a book.

T'Pol studies it from all the angles, a little puzzled.

"It's a biography of Henry Archer, Cap'n's father," Trip says.

"Yes, he told me the publishing house had requested he write a preface." She opens the book and looks at the first pages. "I did not know it was published."

"It's the first batch. He… He told me he wanted to give you a copy since you helped him so much."

T'Pol's mouth twitches once more. She brings the book near her chest and stares at Trip with her very big and dark eyes. Trip can't help thinking of Bambi.

"I hope you'll like it," he tells her and smiles nervously.

She nods. She seems somehow unsettled. "Are you going to stay here longer?" she asks.

"Yeah, I'm not in any hurry."

T'Pol nods again. Then she turns and leaves.

Trip remains standing, hands on hips. He blinks. He stares at the closed door, astonished. He opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. He will _never_ understand that woman.

He decides that worrying about her is a waste of time and takes his present instead. He doesn't have a clue what Jon bought him. It's quite large. Trip cracks a smile. It's a little childish of him, but he likes big gifts. He tears the paper mercilessly and exposes the present.

It's a set of board games.

There is a card stuck to the lid, it reads: _"For the next time you get lost with Malcolm."_ Trip bursts out laughing. There is a hysterical quality in his guffaw and he is aware of it, but he doesn't mind: it feels so good to be able to laugh, just for a moment.

The door opens in that instant and T'Pol walks through the threshold. She stops and looks at him. Trip stares back while he tries his best to swallow his laugh. Tears are running down his cheeks.

"Do you feel well, Commander?"

Trip nods and bites his lower lip harder. T'Pol doesn't look very convinced, but she decides not to argue. She walks toward him instead. She is holding something.

A red package.

Trip notices it's in fact a package in an archetypal red gift wrap. It even has a beautiful gold ribbon. It looks like those perfect gifts in children's books. Probably it's in one of those she had seen it. T'Pol has always been meticulous.

"It's for me?" he asks.

"Yes." She's still offering it to him.

"But I didn't buy you anything," he complains.

"I've been told reciprocity isn't a requirement."

He feels a little embarrassed but manages to smile. He needs all his willpower to restrain himself, be civilized and unwrap the present without looking like the Tasmanian devil.

It's a box. And inside the box is an action figure. It's Frankenstein. Trip hefts its weight, mainly because he is so flabbergasted he doesn't know what else to do.

T'Pol is observing him as if she is waiting for his approval.

"I…" He laughs suddenly. "It's very nice, thanks."

"It's the monster of Doctor Frankenstein."

"Yes, I figured that out." He gazes at her, unable to stop his smile. "The _real_ protagonist of Frankenstein's movie."

T'Pol's cheeks acquire that green tint. She looks away. "I presumed you would like it more than the book."

Trip is too touched to give a witty answer. He thought she didn't care for that movie or any movie. He thought she didn't care about anything _he_ cared for. But she cares. For anybody else it's just an action figure. For him, it's the light of hope.

"Thank you," he says. His voice sounds hoarse even to him. "It's a very nice present."

"You are welcome." She claps her hands behind her and takes a step back. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other duties to attend."

"Of course."

"Good night, Commander."

"Good night, Captain. And Happy New Year."

T'Pol bows her head and gets out.

Trip looks at the figure again. He would never have thought anything like that was possible. Not only T'Pol giving a present to him, but the present itself. He imagines her meditating about what would be a perfect gift.

He smiles. She can't know how appropriate that present is at that very moment.

Among other things, _Frankenstein_ is about resuscitation.

* * *

Trip wakes up screaming.

He hadn't dreamt about his sister's death in a very long time. Partially because "time heals all wounds," but above all thanks to T'Pol's neuro-pressure. Scratch that last part. Thanks to _T'Pol_.

But she isn't available anymore, is she? She's busy being the captain and avoiding him. After her gift, he doesn't hate her, but he can't say he's made any effort to salvage their relationship, or whatever it was.

Trip rests his head on his flexed knees, too tired to think. He feels the sheet's fabric soft against his sweaty forehead and tries to concentrate only on that sensation. In the aftermath of his nightmare, his breathing is harsh, his heart beats wildly, his eyes burn with unshed tears.

Sometimes life is just too painful.

He regains his composure and his strength. He is a grown man, he will be able to cope with all the sadness that surrounds him and he'll do his job. He's a real expert at this by now. But as he heads for the Mess Hall, he feels an odd emptiness inside his chest, a dull flick every time he breathes. It's just an ordinary day, he repeats to himself over and over again, but suddenly that thought makes him miserable.

He's walking alone in the world. _The last man on Earth_… wasn't it a movie? Yes, an old one. With… what was his name? Ah, yes, the great Vincent Price. Maybe he should put it in the next "movie night". He can't even smile. No, it isn't time for humor. Not for him, anyway. So he enters into the Mess Hall, grabs a tray and fills it with the first things he finds.

When he scans the room, he gets a glimpse of Amanda. He feels a strange uneasiness. Maybe if he talks with her he'll be able to recover some cheer.

At this very moment an invisible spear seems to pierce him. He can't breathe, his vision blurs. For a moment, he seriously fears he is dying, but it ends as suddenly as it began. Amazed, he grips the tray, if only to be sure that this is reality. While he is at it, T'Pol overtakes him. He can see it: the profound pain inside the Vulcan, radiating from her as if she were a heated Tungsten. T'Pol keeps walking, unaware of him. Correction: _apparently_ unaware of him. Trip notices her stiff back and the mechanical nature on her movements.

Anger wraps Trip. He's mad and frustrated and so very tired. He can't stand it anymore. _Anything_ has to be better than this. Even knowing for certain that she hates him. So he approaches her. "Can I have breakfast with you, Captain?"

She starts. Well, for a Vulcan. She turns and looks at him. Her eyes seem like two black wells. Then she gazes at his tray.

"I would like to… speak with you. In private?" He keeps his voice low and conceals his anxiety. _Enterprise_ is the Pit of Gossip, after all.

T'Pol is still staring at his tray. What the hell she is thinking, he has no idea. "Wouldn't you prefer to eat with Corporal Cole?" she asks in a low, unemotional voice.

"No." His tone is firm.

She lifts her gaze. There is some kind of vulnerability in her eyes. She says nothing, she only nods.

Trip leaves the tray on the nearest table, which makes the crewmen eating there spit out some of their breakfast, and follows her.

Neither of them speaks — not, at least, until they are sitting at the table and have been served. It's T'Pol who breaks the silence. "What do you want to speak about, Commander?"

"Us."

He sees her swallow.

"Us?"

"The… relationship that exists between us." He moves his hand between them, drawing an invisible path.

T'Pol narrows her eyes. "There isn't any such a relationship. Except for our collaboration at work, of course."

"Lately we don't have even that." When she opens her mouth he adds, "Don't try to deny it. You've been avoiding me."

"That appears to be mutual."

He smiles despite his distress. She isn't side-stepping the argument, at least.

"So you admit there _is_ a problem," Trip presses.

T'Pol bows her head slightly.

"And you have to admit this problem is because of some kind of… I don't know, some kind of _bond_ between us."

T'Pol narrows her eyes again. There is a defensive edge in her expression. "Your point, Commander?"

"My point, _T'Pol_, is that we should discuss what is going on between us."

"Nothing is going on between us."

"Maybe that's the problem."

"I'm your captain. Do you have any idea what are you implying?"

"Believe me, I'm very aware of the implications." He exhales, trying to ease the knot in his stomach. "But… dammit! I can't stand it any longer."

"Try," she says, deadpan.

He smiles as an automatic defence system. "That's what you've been doing?" he counterattacks.

"What you suggest — it's irrational. You're my subordinate, it's against the regulations."

"Is that the real issue? That's why you don't want any type of relationship between us?"

"I _want_ nothing." Her voice is more bitter than cold. "It's you who implies a possible romantic connection between us. I never admitted such a thing." She looks at him, challenging him. "And I never will."

"So you don't want a relationship."

"Do you?" she retaliates.

"Yes."

He means it. Yes, he does, more than anything in the world. He hadn't said it out loud until this moment, that's all. He feels better suddenly, like a man freed of a burden. T'Pol, on the other hand, looks like someone condemned to death. Not angry, or uneasy, or even sad. Just shocked.

"I-I thought…" She stops, lost.

It's the second time Trip has seen her stammer. It makes him hopeful. Because now he knows — yes, he _knows _— that T'Pol doesn't hate him.

"You thought that telling me about Sim would discourage me." He tries to smile, but he isn't sure he makes it. "And I have to admit that at first it worked. I was really mad."

"Aren't you anymore?" There is deep uneasiness in her voice.

"No. I mean, yes, a little, but not for the reasons you suspect. I'm mostly intrigued. Why him and not me?"

He had tried to sound casual, but his bitterness is unmistakable.

T'Pol gulps. "Why do you assume it has anything to do with you?"

Trip rises and approaches her until their faces are so near that he can smell her breath. Chamomile tea. "Because you had sex with my clone."

"And?"

"That's practically like doing it with _me_."

"He wasn't you."

Such apprehension in her voice. "Yes, I know." Resentment overcomes him again. "That's why I asked why him and not me."

T'Pol tries to get up. Trip stops her by grabbing her right wrist.

Her glare could drill titanium. He bears it.

"What do you desire to hear?" she asks and tugs to free her hand.

"I don't know… The truth?"

"He asked me nicely."

"So if I ask you, will you say yes?"

Her clenched jaw is her answer.

"Then why him?" he insists.

"He was going to die. I had nothing else to give him."

"Everybody is going to die some day."

"Yes, but I wouldn't be the cause of their death."

"So it was a pity fuck."

All the colour drains from her face. Trip has never seen her _yellow_. "Don't you dare to censure me," she hisses.

"I don't need to. Your behaviour speaks for itself." He smiles sardonically. "Poor fellow, absolutely in love and you used him like a puppet."

"I _didn't_ use him."

"No, of course not. You simply forgot to tell him that it meant nothing."

"That's not true."

"Are you going to tell me that you loved him?"

"No." She looks like she's about to throw up. She gets up suddenly and moves away to the window, as if she's trying to distance herself from everything he represents. "If you want the absolute truth, I didn't want to do it for all the reasons you have put forward, but I had to do it."

"Why?"

"Because I was going to kill him to save _you_."

Trip feels a great weight land on his chest. He can't breathe. "Why me? Why not him?"

"It was the logical option. You had an almost 80 percent chance of survival. His chances were ... much less."

Trip doesn't know if he feels more anger or pain. "So numbers, that's all we are."

She looks sharply at him. Her eyes are full of incredulity. "No."

"No? _No?!_ So how do you condemn somebody to death just for a percentage?"

"There were other reasons as well."

"Really? So you're telling me that if his chances of survival would be larger than mine, still you would have saved me instead of him?"

"Given the circumstances… probably."

"_What?_"

T'Pol looks like a Vulcan allegory of helplessness. She has her arms wrapped protectively across her chest and her eyes are suspiciously moist.

"Why? Why would you chose me over Sim?" he asks. He _needs_ to know.

"Perhaps he looked like you, but he wasn't you. He was like a child. Naïve and... vulnerable. He lacked the background that a mature male needs to be… a man."

"Did that affect his job?"

"No."

"You're telling me you'd have saved me because I'm more _mature_ than him? Even if that didn't affect his performance at work?

"Yes."

"That's _irrational_, T'Pol."

"I know," she admits in a small voice.

"But, T'Pol, he could have grown up, emotionally. With a little time—"

"This isn't a school, this is a space ship. And we have a very important and dangerous mission to complete. I couldn't risk everything in the hope that he would ultimately turn into _you_."

She shuts up. She seems a little shocked at her own reasoning. Then she averts her eyes.

Trip doesn't reply. He can't figure out what to say anyway. He wanted her to be all Vulcan, to use her "logical arguments" against him, because that way he would be convinced of her inhumanity. Yes, he wanted to confirm that she was a cold witch in order to be free of her spell. But all of this has changed right now, because he has witnessed sorrow and doubt behind her cool façade. Because he has witnessed _humanity_.

What does he do now? Stay or go away? Can he really leave her? Does he _want_ to leave her? He _did_ want to be free of her, but that was when he was sure she didn't care about him.

And now? Does she care? He isn't sure, but he's damned sure going to find out once and for all.

"You had sex with Sim," he says out loud.

T'Pol addresses him a tired gaze. "As I told you."

"Did you think of me while you were doing it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

If Trip didn't know better he could swear that sounded like fear.

"Did you like it?"

"Commander!"

"Do you regret it?"

"Vulcans don't regret."

"If you could travel to the past, would you do it again?"

"If I could, hypothetically speaking, travel to the past, I would dissuade you from modifying the compression of the antimatter stream."

Fair enough.

"Do you hate me?"

"Why should I?"

"Because you killed him to save me."

Her stare is wary. "No, I don't hate you."

"Do you resent me?"

"No. If I blamed somebody it would be me."

"But every time you see me you remember what you did," he deduces.

She nods.

"If you didn't see me things would be better?"

"I don't know."

Trip knows he's reaching somewhere because she doesn't even try to evade his interrogation.

"Tell me, T'Pol, do you really want me to leave you alone and never bother you again?"

She hesitates. It's only a microscopic crack on her wall, almost invisible for anybody else except for Trip.

"Or do you want me to stay?" he asks.

Her eyes are two black holes that absorb any cheerful thought. "Desires aren't necessities," she declares.

It isn't a rejection. In fact, it's a veiled assent. Trip puts his hands in her shoulder. Wanted or not, he needs to touch her.

"T'Pol if you let me—"

"No." She steps back. "No, Commander, don't say anything. Don't even think about it. It's… _futile_. Impossible."

"T'Pol, listen to me—"

"No." She moves even more away from him. "We're _not_ going to destroy our lives for a mere sensation."

"Hey, cut the melodrama." He smiles to play the situation down. "We're only having a few words about the _possibility_ of a relationship. It's not like I'm talking about marriage here."

Her forced blank expression startles him. "Do you… do you want to talk about _marriage_?"

"And if I did?" she challenges.

"Isn't it a little early for that?"

She shakes her head, as if she expected that answer and the only thing left was a melancholic serenity. "This is why we can't have a relationship."

"So you're going to give up, without even trying."

The sadness is even more evident now.

"I can't _try_." She exhales. "This is foolish."

"No, this is what we should have done from the beginning. We have to discuss it. Tell me, why can't you try?"

She sends him a disparaging glance. "I'm Vulcan."

"So?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Then _make me_ understand."

"Vulcans don't speculate, Vulcans don't leave things incomplete, Vulcans don't hope. When we do something, we do it until the very end. When we choose something, we choose it forever. _Forever_. That's a long time for a Vulcan."

Something in her voice attracts Trip's attention. "But not for a Human," he deduces. "It's that, isn't it? That's what scares you."

"Nothing scares me."

"Uh huh."

She looks daggers at him. Trip isn't going to be intimidated. Not when he has discovered a weak point in her armour. He has to follow this path. "I'm young," he says slowly, thinking as he goes, "and I'm guessing you are too. You haven't told me your age, though."

T'Pol tenses. For some reason this is a touchy subject. Just when Trip thinks she's not going to answer, she confesses, "I'm 65."

Trip is momentarily derailed by surprise. "Yeah… Mmmm…" He tries to recover the thread. "Anyway, the members of my family are very long-lived. I can live easily through my 100 years. That's around 60 years. 60 years is a lot of time, T'Pol." He offers an encouraging smile. "Who knows? We could grow tired of each other in that time. Nobody has said it has to end well. The only thing I'm asking you to do is try."

"No," she answers, but her tone is anything but confident.

"Why not? What do you have to lose?"

She stares at him as if he has lost his mind, but instead of rebuking him, she sits down again. Trip does the same.

"T'Pol, be honest, are you happy with this situation?"

"I'm not happy nor disgusted, Mr. Tucker. My state of mind is unimportant."

"_Unimportant_?"

T'Pol shakes her head, like a stubborn child. "Don't take my words lightly when I say this will destroy us," she warns.

"T'Pol, do you think this situation is better? Because it's making me crazy."

The Vulcan averts her gaze. She's pale. It brings the bags under her eyes out.

"This is making you miserable too," Trip says.

"The alternative would be worse."

"How do you know? You haven't even tried." He strangles the air with his bare hands, trying to ease his frustration. "Besides, I don't think it could be worse. I can't focus, T'Pol. I don't have appetite and I lack the energy for everything. My mind wanders off, putting our ship and the crew at risk. My nightmares have come back." She seems concerned by this. "It's hell, T'Pol, and you know it because I suspect you're suffering too." Her silence is a telltale sign. "So tell me: Can you live like this?"

She hides her face behind her hands. It's a very Human gesture.

"What's your plan?" he asks.

T'Pol doesn't answer.

"Are you going to ignore this, ignore me and just go on? What do you expect? That if you don't see me, talk to me, be near me for a long time this connection between us, your feelings, will fade? That's stupid."

She drops her arms on the table. Her jaw is clenched. Out of anger, disgust, resignation? He doesn't know and he doesn't care. He's on a roll now. "The feelings don't disappear just because you want them to. They don't simply go away when you don't see or talk with the person you care about." He addresses his next words directly to her soul: "When they're this strong, the feelings persist. And… there are _two_ people in this dance. You aren't the only one in this situation, _I'm_ here too. And I'm telling you this: I'm not going to ignore these feelings."

Her eyes enlarge. That has gotten to her emotionally. It's the first time that Trip is sure he has reached her heart.

"So do whatever you want. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not giving up," he declares. T'Pol just blinks. Trip becomes bolder: "Like it or not, I'm stuck to you and you'll have to shoulder me. Accept it."

She frowns a little, as if she's trying to digest this news. Trip smiles and bites a piece of fried bacon. That was enough for one morning. Now he just has to sit back and wait patiently. The next move is hers and he will be expecting it.

He just hopes she moves before the Xindi kill them.


	7. Burying the Hatchet

Thanks for following the story after The Controversy of the last chapter :-) But I swear, the road will be nicer from now on.

* * *

**Bury****ing the Hatchet**

The ship shines against the desert plains like a blade.

"It looks like an exotic tomb," Trip says.

T'Pol ignores the detail that probably it _will_ turn into a tomb. If nobody comes to its rescue, the Insectoid eggs will die. She was fully aware of that when she made her decision. There is no use in dredging it up.

She turns the screen off and heads for the window. The space in front of her is dark and cold and the room behind her is empty and inhospitable. Except for Trip.

"We couldn't save them," he reassures her.

"I know."

Yes, she does. That doesn't mean she accepts it easily. That's why she has taken refuge in the Ready Room. She really doesn't know why she has called Trip to be with her, but now that he's here she can't imagine herself alone.

"Do you think they—?"

"No, T'Pol. Don't even try. It'll drive you nuts."

And when did that happen? When did she lose her self-confidence? When did he turn into her support?

"We have done more than enough placing a low range beacon and hoping. Or being positive about the probabilities, in your case."

It is intended as a joke. T'Pol appreciates the effort, even if she can't show it.

"Are you sorry about their likely fate?" she asks. She is curious about his take on the entire situation.

"I don't think about it."

She glances at him out of the corner of her eyes. She tries not to look too judgmental.

"Look, the Xindi aren't my cup of tea, but that doesn't mean I want a bunch of eggs to perish."

T'Pol is skeptical.

"Months ago my answer would have been different, I know," he admits. "You have helped me with this."

He gives her his soft smile, the one that makes her stomach shiver.

"I don't think those eggs were so innocent though," he adds, joking. "Remember how they sprinkled your face with that weird liquid."

"Since I was wearing a helmet there were no consequences."

"Yeah, but imagine if you weren't. Who knows what would have happened then." He winks. "Maybe you would have suffered a mutation, like the guy in _The Fly_."

"Is that the horrendous movie about the scientist who suffers an accident with a teleportation device?"

"It isn't _horrendous_," he says, his pride clearly hurt. "It's a classic."

"I can enumerate all the scientific errors."

"Well, you have to admit that thinking about a teleportation device in 1958 is quite visionary."

"It demonstrates how much Humanity has advanced."

"Did you actually just praise my species?"

"I've never denied that you have evolved," she retaliates. "You have travelled a long journey."

"And now we travel through the stars."

T'Pol nods and turns to observe the space in motion. It is less cold and dark.

"We have a long road before us though," Trip says.

She extends her hand and takes his. She doesn't know why, but she needs to feel him next to her. His touch communicates warmth and comfort, with a little frisson of exhilaration.

"I am grateful you are here," she whispers.

"Anytime, T'Pol, anytime."


	8. There Is No Time

**Note:** And with this chapter ends the little arch that begins with "Reparation" and develops with "Messenger of Doom". I don't know if the evolution is clear, but I've tried to do as best as I could.

By the way, I had a discussion with myself about who send to you'll know where, but decided to send T'Pol, because it had sense and... well, for dramatic reasons.

* * *

**There Is No Time**

"We're talking about a one-way trip," Lieutenant Reed points out.

He, Ensign Mayweather, Trip and T'Pol are silent for a long second.

"I should be the one to go," Mayweather says.

"Forget it," Trip says.

"I'm the only one that can pilot the shuttle," the Ensign counters.

"I practiced on those controls. I can get her in," Trip says.

T'Pol feels a strange sting near her heart.

"But I've actually done it," Mayweather insists.

Trip looks at T'Pol, almost pleading. "Captain, you want a senior officer on this, don't you?"

What she _wants_ isn't something she will ever share. She's a professional, she has an _obligation_. Unfortunately, her decision (which also isn't what she wants at all) won't be liked by either of them. "I tend to agree with Ensign Mayweather; he knows how to pilot the shuttle and he knows how it works enough to resolve any eventuality."

"I understand its mechanism, I'm the Engineer, after all," Trip grumbles.

"Yes, but Mr. Mayweather is our best pilot."

Mayweather smiles, obviously proud of being acknowledged. "I'll get started then," he says.

T'Pol raises her voice. "Wait a moment, Ensign."

The pilot stops and looks at her. Trip and Lieutenant Reed stare at her too.

"In _normal_ circumstances I would send you," she says. "But these aren't normal circumstances."

The three men keep staring at her.

"We can't assume everything will work according to plan. We should assume something could go wrong. In fact, we should be prepared for the worst scenario. What if the shuttle doesn't explode? What if Ensign Mayweather is captured?"

"Then I should go," Reed says, a dark scowl on his face.

"No," T'Pol says, "because the reasons I have to reject the Ensign can be applied to you too."

The three men fold their arms. Any other person might find the sight amusing..

"I must point out that all of you are Human."

"I think we know that," Trip retorts.

"Precisely." She arches her brow. "We are in a delicate position. Any mistake could impair or even destroy our chances of success. We can't afford to give the Xindi an advantage. If they capture a Human they'll suspect something immediately. And if they torture any of you…"

"Are you calling us _weak_?" Reed gets indignant.

"Don't underestimate the power of extreme pain, psychological deception or drugs, Lieutenant. The best of men can be devastated by torture."

"I would _die_ before confessing anything," Reed states.

"Possibly," she concedes, "but I'm not going to risk this mission based on a possibility."

"Then what do you suggest?" Trip asks.

"_I_ will pilot the shuttle."

For a moment, T'Pol wonders if Daniels has come and stopped time, because the men look like statues.

"You can't be serious!" Trip shouts after five seconds.

"I'm not accustomed to telling jokes, Commander."

"With all due respect, _you_ are the Captain, ma'am," Lieutenant Reed says.

"I'm aware of that."

"Your duty is to stay in command," Reed reminds her.

"I know. And in any other circumstances I'd follow that directive, but as I've told you, this isn't a normal situation. It's my responsibility to ensure the success of this mission. I'll do whatever's required for that."

Three faces show three different levels of discomfort.

"The argument is closed, gentlemen. Now, if you excuse me, I don't have much time." She heads for the exit door. "Ensign Mayweather, come with me and teach me how to manage the shuttle."

Mayweather nods (after glancing at the other two men almost reluctantly) and follows her.

At the eighth step in the corridor, T'Pol hears Trip's voice.

"T— Captain!"

T'Pol stops walking. Mayweather does the same. Trip fidgets, moving his weight from one foot to the other. T'Pol orders Mayweather to go ahead with a gesture.

"Yes?" she asks when they're alone.

"You… You shouldn't go. I mean…" He rubs his forehead. "You're the captain, you have responsibilities. I know it's difficult to order people to die, but that's what—"

"I'm not doing this because I feel _guilty_, Commander. I'm Vulcan and your insinuation that I'm acting like this driven by my feelings is absurd. I wouldn't have any problem entrusting this mission to any other. In fact, Ensign Mayweather would be the best option, but I've already told you why I'm doing this."

"Because you're Vulcan."

"Yes. Even if they capture me, they won't know for sure if I'm part of the _Enterprise_, that could give us time; and even if they suspect, or can probe it, I'll be able to resist torture better than any human."

Trip closes the space between them. "But you're the Captain, it's your obligation to lead us. You're the one who knows all the details of this mission, you're the one who knows what to do next. Planning ahead is the captain's job. It's your job."

"It's your obligation now."

"I've already got my hands full with the engines."

T'Pol fights the urge to take his hands in her own. "You know this mission. You know our future plans. In fact, most of them are your initiatives. The crew respects you and you're part of Starfleet. You'll be a completely capable captain."

Trip pales. His emotions are very visible: a mixture of anxiety and anguish. T'Pol is a little surprised to be able to read those feelings, although she shouldn't be: Trip has always been quite easy to read, and for some time now, she's been more sensitive to them than ever.

"I… I don't… You should…"

She takes his hands this time; they feel oddly cold.

" There isn't a good moment for this, not for a Vulcan." She sighs. "However, this is our last time together."

"God, T'Pol! Can't you stop being so… so… _Vulcan_?"

"No."

Trip scowls. T'Pol hesitates for a moment, not sure what to make of his expression, and then decides to tell him how she feels. "I can't find the exact words to express myself, not in English or in Vulcan. Even so I wanted you to know how much I appreciate your support and advice. You're a good… friend."

"_Friend_." He seems disappointed.

"Deep friend? Intimate friend? I don't know the right term for it. In Vulcan we call it _t'hai'la_." She supposes her hesitation wasn't obvious.

Incomprehensibly for her, after has declared herself so plainly, Trip pulls his hands away. his eyes radiate a hurt blue. "You… You're going to die and the only thing you say is… that you're my _friend_." He makes it sound almost like an insult.

"Intimate friend," she tries to explain. Doesn't he understand? No. His clenched teeth tell her he doesn't know what she is talking about.

She stubbornly retrieves his hands and begins her lecture again. "You are the only Human I trust in this ship. On any ship. You are the only Human whose opinions and judgments I respect. You… are important to me." She looks directly into his eyes with the absurd idea that this way he could read her mind. "What I wanted to say is that you were right: the feelings don't disappear just because I'm not near you or I don't talk to you." She swallows. This is like being naked in front of him. "The feelings persist."

He opens his mouth to say something, but only an inarticulate sound comes out. His hands tremble. All of him trembles. He reminds T'Pol of her old sehlat, _Ru'lumu_, when it was so ill, just before its death, and she slept embracing it. The same helplessness overwhelms her now.

She wishes (and this makes her realize how desperate she is) for Daniels to come and tell her how to avoid her imminent fate. But Daniels hasn't showed up since the day he talked to her about the Reptilian Xindis who had travelled to the past. The biological weapon that Reed and Hoshi had retrieved was the last contact with time travel that T'Pol has had.

Trip swallows. Time expires. Daniels isn't going to come.

These are their last seconds together and T'Pol is all of a sudden acutely aware of it. Any doubt, any fear, any wish that she could have had is irrelevant now. Everything will disappear. That's life. If this is happening it is because nothing else can happen and since it's inevitable, any thought of changing it is useless. The irreversibility of the situation sinks into T'Pol's mind.

She can face anything now. Even her own heart.

She holds out her hand and takes Trip's. She extends two fingers and forces him to emulate her gesture.

The Vulcan kiss.

Since he doesn't recognize the meaning, and T'Pol wants him to know at least part of her sentiments, she moves forward and presses her lips on his mouth. It's a soft Human kiss, more sweet and naive than anything else, but truthful even so.

T'Pol walks away from him without uttering any other word. When she thinks everything is said, Trip says, "Cap'n."

She stops. "Cap'n" is more than a word, more than a grammatical error. It is the acceptance of a fact. It's the first time he has called her by the name he used for his deceased friend. T'Pol turns round to glance at Trip's face. She half-expects a last attempt to convince her, but he radiates resignation.

"I wish we had more time," he says.

So does she.

* * *

Trip waits for an image, a deficient connection, a beep… Anything that could prove that T'Pol is alive.

But nothing happens.

He rubs the chair's arms. He can feel Malcolm's stare and Hoshi watching him without actually turning her head from the Communications Console. Travis drums the helm.

They have to get away. He knows that. Those were T'Pol's last orders. And if she's alive? If he leaves her on that planet and she dies because he wasn't there to help her?

He's not a quitter. He's not a fool either.

"What do we do?" Malcolm asks the question that everybody is thinking.

Trip doesn't answer. A second, just a second more to ascertain if he can help her.

"What are your orders?" Malcolm asks again.

Maybe if they got closer… If they stayed a little longer behind the satellite…

"_Captain_," Malcolm calls him. This word is like a lash against Trip's mind. It makes everything real and unavoidable. He's not alone. He has responsibilities. Eighty-three crewmembers depend on him. He can't fail them.

"We'll follow Captain T'Pol's orders. Let's move away. Travis, take us out of here."

Trip sighs. Yes, he will be a good Captain; he'll save his crew, plan a good strategy against the Xindi and destroy their weapon.

Then, with a little luck, he will die.

* * *

To be Vulcan is to have perfect control of every aspect of life. There is no chance for impulsiveness, improvisation or intuition. That, however, is the essence of Humans; it's what makes them unpredictable, volatile and flexible. They can have things like faith, dreams and hope, because for them not everything is calculated.

T'Pol was the perfect Vulcan when she came aboard _Enterprise_ the first time. She thought, like most of her species, that those traits of Human nature were temporary, that they would disappear with time and a good example (which she would provide). But as time went by she learned that this constant state of flux was what made Humans… well, Humans. And she began not only to be fascinated by it, but also to be infected by it. There were times, when success seemed impossible, that she felt the temptation to hypothesize outrageous success and somehow everything came off well at the end. From that to feeling hope was only a step. Hope made her a better crewman for _Enterprise_. Hope made her achieve impossible goals.

But hope opened a little fissure, a door to her former impenetrable Vulcan mind and it is this entrance what an unnamed Reptilian Xindi is using to attack her.

He threatens her, he reminds her what will happen to her comrades if the Xindi find them. T'Pol can bear the blows, the sore muscles, the burns, the drugs… That's easy. Stopping her mind from imagining Dantean scenes turns out to be more complicated. But she's still Vulcan, she has the endurance and the mental training. She's able to shut down, take refuge in her own mind and abandon her body.

She only has to think in a very big empty space. White and quiet and immaculate.

Now she just has to wait.

Sometimes loud bumps sound over her head, proof that the Xindi are still interrogating her, trying to get information from her. T'Pol ignores them. It's strange, she never thought she would have time to think about her death. The few times that the idea of dying crossed her mind (since Vulcans don't speculate), she assumed the end would be quick, surely in battle or in an accident. Maybe it was a way of deluding herself. She's a real expert by now, after all.

Before the mission T'Pol had convinced herself that she wouldn't think of Trip, but now she can't help it. It's an irresistible force. She knows he is alive, otherwise the Reptilian inquisitor would have said something. That's a consolation, even if she will never see him again. What is he doing in this moment? Does he still hope she lives? Has he convinced himself that she must be dead? He's had to see by now that she has failed. Is he still expecting her to come back? Yes, T'Pol _is_ alive, but his orders were clear: if she failed, he had to take _Enterprise_ out of the star system, at least until the imminent danger had ended and they had created another plan.

Trip isn't so stubborn that he would wait in vain. Although he's loyal and caring and trusting and… Why is she doing this to herself? Such a waste of energy. She must concentrate on her white refuge.

Something draws her attention suddenly. T'Pol fixes her stare on the blurred shape that has appeared some meters to her right. The outlines of the shadow begin to take the shape of a man little by little. It's Trip. T'Pol jumps up from the imaginary ground. That's not possible, it must be a trap. She checks her mental barriers. Everything looks all right; she is herself. Then how can an image of Trip be there? She scans her consciousness again. No, this isn't an attack or some kind of hallucination. On the other hand, he isn't just a figment of her imagination. He looks somehow independent. How is this possible? T'Pol observes him: the same Trip she knows, but sadder, almost despondent. The red traces of his suffering reach her. She feels the sudden impulse of comforting him, even if it's impossible. What is he doing here? Is she losing her mind? Maybe it's Trellium? But no, she isn't experiencing any loss of self-control, as she did in the _Seleya_. She's in control, more determined than ever.

There must be a way to see Trip again.

She has to do something. But what? What can she do? What would Captain Archer do? She visualizes him: his cocky expression, his stubbornness, his hazardous plans, his confidence that everything will come off well. Yes, that's it. T'Pol looks at Trip's figure a last time. The past gives way to the future.

She knows what she must do.

In the physical world T'Pol opens her eyes.

"I want to speak with Degra."


	9. Casualty

**Casualty**

Trip can't stop looking at the corpses covered by plastic blankets.

Three dead crewmen. Three dead crewmen on his watch.

They are there, lying in a corner as if they were garbage. It makes him want to retch.

When the pain is unbearable he looks away. The rest of the room is full of people. Living people. More or less wounded, but alive. Ensign Masaro tries to move the fingers of his bandaged hand and winces. At his side, Crewman Taylor is sleeping, sedated. She hit her head against a wall. Luckily she was at her station at the time. If she had been in the corridor she wouldn't have survived.

The same can't be said for the three dead crewmen.

"No internal injuries," Phlox diagnoses.

With effort Trip directs his gaze to the biobed in the centre of the infirmary. T'Pol is sitting there, her usual straight stance replaced by a half-bent bearing. Trip tries to ignore the dark green bruises on her body, especially her black eye and the nasty burns along her neck.

"How many have we lost?" she asks Phlox.

"Three."

T'Pol nods and lets him leave to attend the wounded people. Then she addresses Trip. He feels like running away. He walks toward her instead.

"Report?" she says.

"Deck E has suffered significant damage. Cargo Bay Two is mostly disabled."

"What about the engines?"

"We need to replace some exhaust manifolds and there are scratches in one of the nacelles, but nothing serious. The engines are operative."

T'Pol nods again. Trip could evaporate of pure shame in this right moment.

"Good job," she says.

"What?" he exclaims, dumbfounded. "T—Cap'n, haven't you heard what I've just said? We've lost part of deck E _and_ three crewmen." _And everything is my fault_, he wants to add.

"The damage would have been much worse if you hadn't taken the ship out of the system."

"The Xindi attacked us anyway."

"They would have attacked you earlier if you had stayed behind the satellite. You gained a precious time."

"I'm sure that's some consolation to our three dead crewman!"

"Yes, three crewmembers are dead. But you protected 79 crewmembers. Remember that."

"If you say so…" He clearly isn't very convinced.

She brings her body closer to his and bends a hand on his arm. He is suddenly very aware of her presence. And so very relieved and glad… She's there, with him; it's like a miracle.

"They're alive thanks _to you_, Trip."

He stares at her, absolutely stunned. This is the first time she has called him by his nickname. It pleases him. Now that she's there he can notice those little details.

And these details are what make his life worth living.


	10. Forgiven, But Not Forgotten

**Forgiven, But Not Forgotten**

"I hope he'll be all right," Degra says.

T'Pol steps between him and Trip even before he has finished the sentence. She foresees the imminent conflict.

Trip doesn't disappoint her. "What's one more dead human to you?" he asks angrily. His face begins to redden. A clear sign of fury in him.

"Commander," she pleads.

Degra looks positively ill.

"You had no problem killing seven million of us, but seven million and one is more than you can stomach?" Trip continues.

"_Commander_…"

"I guess even Xindi have their limits."

"Trip!" She has clutched one of his arms with one hand. Inside, she's almost imploring him: _'__don't make me shout at you; please, don't make me force you to stop'_

He looks at her. She doesn't like the sickening flame in his eyes. She has never seen him so furious. He's about to explode.

But not right now.

He nods painfully and he leaves the room. The hateful glare he throws at Degra could spark nuclear fission.

T'Pol can't help sighing. She knew something like this would happen if the two men were in the same room. That's why she had prevented any meeting between them. She has even entrusted other engineers to help with the scans in the Command centre.

She passes the following hours with Degra. Despise his friendly attitude, he's still a little mistrustful. She understands that. He feels guilty too, about what happened with the first Xindi probe. The apologies he offers are a considerate detail, and they prove his compassion, but what she would prefer is an effective way to destroy the Xindi weapon.

When she thinks she has spent enough time with Degra, T'Pol leaves him to search for Trip. She doesn't like to admit it, but she's a little worried. The Human saying "no news is good news" can't be automatically applied to him. A missing Trip can mean trouble.

It's Rostov who knows where he is. This isn't strange: he is also worried and he's been keeping an eye on him. Just in case, he adds quickly. He doesn't want to imply that something is wrong. His loyalty is noteworthy.

As Rostov said, Trip is in one of the corridors of the Deck E. He is apparently repairing something. He is aware of her presence. He doesn't raise his gaze, though.

"Crewman Rostov said I'd find you here," she says.

He nods, but doesn't stop working.

"What are you doing?" she demands.

"Those panels have to be repaired."

"Can't anybody else do it?"

"No."

Apparently he's in full denial mode.

"You are troubled, and I can understand the reason, but this isn't the way to solve anything."

"I'm not troubled. I'm a perfectly happy little engineer."

"You aren't even nearly happy and this is obviously affecting you."

"What is obviously affecting me?" He plays dumb.

"Degra's presence in this ship."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you haven't slept since he came aboard."

"How do you know?"

"I know."

He stops at this and glares at her. "Have you been spying on me?" he asks, his voice on the verge of anger.

"I don't need to spy on you to ascertain your state of mind."

Trip sighs and stands up. "What do you want?" he demands.

"I want you to tell me what is bothering you."

"Nothing is bothering me."

All right, if he wants to be stubborn about it T'Pol can't do anything.

"Can I expect you to behave, then?"

"Haven't I? I've been very civilized with our Xindi _friends_."

"Trip…"

"What do you want from me? That I get all kissy-kissy with them? It's not going to happen. The only thing I can promise is that I'm not going to plant a bomb in their ship."

T'Pol tries to be reasonable. "They are helping us," she says.

"They are help—?! Great news! They could have helped us not _attacking_ our planet!"

"What is done is done."

"Yeah? Well… Maybe I'm not _done_."

She approaches him to talk to him in a low, calm and soothing voice. "Trip, I know this is hard, but we need to collaborate with them. It's like what you told me when I refused to work with the Andorians."

"This isn't even remotely like that," he hisses.

"Trip, try to _understand_. If we work together we can save Earth. Billions of lives depend on us. What they did is terrible, but by working with them now we can change what is going to happen."

"And I have to forget the past."

"No, you have to deal with it."

"And work with them."

"Yes."

"So I just have to ignore all the deaths. All the wasted lives. It's easy, isn't it? They're just… what? Seven million on Earth? And Jon, don't forget Jon, who died in the Expanse. And Crewman Kamata and Ensign Marcel and Corporal Romero." He passes a hand through his hair and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, as if he couldn't contain his energy. "And Sim… Oh, yes, poor little Sim… who sacrificed his life to save mine. He would be so proud of me now, don't you think? Knowing that he wasted his life to make me work with the _garbage_ that condemned all of us to this nightmare of a mission."

T'Pol can't say anything. She can't find the words.

"They're just numbers, aren't they? And I have to forget them. _All_ of them. Do I forget my sister too? That's actually possible." He's rambling at this point and T'Pol knows it. "I've been ignoring her death all this time, after all. I tried not to see her any differently than the other seven million, so I've spent the last nine months trying to _pretend_ she was just another victim." He looks at her and his devastated gaze makes her heart ache. "But she's my sister, T'Pol. My baby sister…" His voice breaks and he begins to cry, as if somebody has opened a spigot in him and let all his repressed feelings out.

T'Pol watches the man she cares for more than anything break down in front of her. She never suspected the depth of his grief. She was so preoccupied with her position, with her own doubts and her own pain, that she ignored his feelings. And now he's hurt and seeing him hurt makes her miserable and she can't stand it.

This is what Humans call an "epiphany."

He's still crying. She has never witnessed anything so heartbreaking. She wishes she knew what to do. The only thing that occurs to her is to put her hand on his shoulder. She can feel how it shakes.

"I'm sorry," she says. It sounds so insufficient. "I grieve with thee."

Trip sobs louder and hugs her forcefully. She lets him. There is something comforting in his arms clutching her body. She can sense part of his suffering inside her, a mirror of his own feelings. It doesn't scare her the way she might have expected. It makes her stronger, somehow. More able to understand him.

"I envy you Vulcans," he whispers against her neck.

"Why?"

"The way you… can control your feelings…"

"Because otherwise they would overwhelm us. It's out of necessity. We can't express them as you Humans do." She strokes his hair and his shoulders. "You are the ones to be envied."

He moves his head away to look at her and cracks a sheepish smile.

And suddenly she remembers an old Human saying.

She moves her hand to his face, caresses his jaw and, before he can utter a word, she kisses him. It's hot and passionate. She's thirsty for his affection.

There is a lingering feeling on her lips when she breaks the kiss.

"What… What was that for?" he manages to ask.

T'Pol doesn't answer. She takes his hand and leads him down the corridor. To her cabin. Surely they can spare an hour.

_Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die._


	11. Reflected

Happy New Year in advance!

* * *

**Reflected**

"You've hardly changed, mother."

"I beg your pardon?" T'Pol hasn't heard it right. It's not possible.

The stranger who claims to be _Enterprise_'s Captain and to be called Lorian doesn't answer. His stance is calm with a slight cockiness. The crewman sitting next to him — who has a bizarre resemblance to a Denobulan — shrugs sheepishly.

T'Pol looks directly in Lorian's eyes to search for any sign of falsehood. There is something in his gaze… She turns toward Trip to see his reaction.

That's when it hits her.

Lorian and Trip have the same eyes. The same colour, the same shape and even the same fiercely intelligent quality.

T'Pol feels her life turn upside-down**.**

* * *

"Lorian says we're going to be married in a traditional Vulcan ceremony."

Yes, apparently Lorian has said a lot of things and Trip is telling T'Pol _all_ of them.

"It's going to take me weeks to learn to pronounce the vows. You know where we're going to have our honeymoon?"

T'Pol shakes her head no. She doesn't want to hear more. Obviously Trip doesn't understand her gesture.

"Cargo bay three," he says. "I'll fill it up with sand that we dug up from a passing asteroid. I'm even supposed to…" He laughs. "I'm even supposed to manufacture a palm tree."

What really bothers T'Pol is how he's talking about those things as if they are _the_ future instead of _a_ future.

"It's ridiculous to assume those events are going to happen." Then she changes of subject: "Pass me the potatoes."

Trip hands her the bowl. His face is sombre. "What's up with you?"

"I want more of them."

"Don't sidestep. Why are you acting like this?"

"How?"

"You don't talk about our guests. You don't talk _to_ them either, if you can avoid it. It's like their mere presence makes you ill or something."

"I don't think an acquaintance with them is a good idea. It could contaminate our temporal thread."

She has heard more than enough since the moment she found out Trip was dead in that errant _Enterprise_. She hasn't slept since.

"Is that the reason or is it what they talk about?" Trip pressures on. "The possibilities are mind-blowing. You and I married, having a child…"

And one day Trip dying and leaving T'Pol alone. Doesn't he see it? Doesn't he notice how awful that possible future is? Doesn't he _realize_ that she wants to avoid that probability with all her will?

"It has to freak you out, doesn't it?" he asks, his pain pouring from each word like hot tea. "I bet marrying with me was the last thing you ever expected."

Apparently he's as dense as a drunk Andorian.

"That has nothing to do with it," she answers.

"Riiiight… Of course. I could see the warm glint in your eyes when I talked about us."

"Our counterparts." She begins to feel slightly irritated.

"Can't you even think about the possibility?" he asks.

"To what purpose?"

Deep, deep down she knows those weren't the best words.

He stares at her, dumbfounded. "I can't believe it…" He throws his napkin on the table. He's really angry. "Is the thought of a life with me so disgusting?"

T'Pol doesn't answer. His suggestion offends her as a woman, as a Vulcan and as a sentient being. Of course, he misunderstands her silence and he strides to the exit.

She stays there for a long time and meditates about his last question and the answer it deserves.

What she can't stand is a life _without_ him.

* * *

Trip is stroking Porthos' soft fur. Now he understands why Jon wanted the pet with him: the beagle's company is soothing.

You can talk to him, too. That's entertaining.

"She's a heartless woman. She's afraid of _us_, of us as a couple. Can you believe it?" The little dog does a quick nod, as if he understands him. "And now the other _Enterprise_ has disappeared. She has to be glad about that. But I'll tell you something: I'm not going to be the one to give in this time. Oh, no, she will have to come here and _talk_ to me, because I'm not going to go to her."

The truth is he isn't really as confident as he seems. T'Pol can be very stubborn and aside from their professional encounters, they haven't talked much.

He misses her. But he isn't going to make the first move this time. No. Definitely not. No way.

Will she be in her cabin?

Just when he is playing with the idea of paying a visit, someone rings at the door. Probably Rostov with the latest reports.

To his amazement, it's T'Pol. Porthos flees the cabin like a bat out of hell.

"Can I come in?"

Trip lets her in. He follows her, trying to look cool and composed. She seems all those things without even pretending it. Something, however, is gnawing at her. Trip can feel it. "Did you want something, Cap'n?"

T'Pol looks at him out of the corner of her eye. She _is_ irritated by his behaviour. "No, nothing in particular," she replies at last.

"Any sign of the other _Enterprise_?"

"No," she informs him uncomfortably.

"When are we going to meet Degra's ship?" He doesn't want to sound callous, but he knows he does.

"In about two hours. That's why I've been able to come here."

Trip nods but doesn't reply. He doesn't open his mouth. It's _her_ move.

"I need to speak with you. In fact, I think a talk between us is a priority," she says at last.

"How so?"

"Our meeting with an alternate _Enterprise_ has had repercussions for us."

"No kidding. Our kid tried to destroy our ship." Trip has a theory why Lorian could act so ruthlessly, but he isn't going to tell her. He's fond of his legs.

"_What I was referring to_," T'Pol goes on, "were the repercussions for our relationship, and specifically for your attitude towards it."

"_My_ attitude?"

"I'm not the one who has decided to be angry. You have to admit that these last days have affected you."

Trip rubs his mouth with his palm. It takes all his self-control to not start shouting. "These last couple of days have opened my eyes to some things, that's for sure," he says viciously.

"Meaning?"

"Well, you obviously aren't going to consider the possibility of a serious relationship with me unless there's no exit and I'm your last resort."

T'Pol's stare is long and full of incredulity. "This is why I thought your acquaintance with them was a bad idea," she murmurs.

"You're totally freaked out by the possibility of a future marriage with me."

T'Pol sighs, exasperated. "I am _not_ 'freaked out,' as you say."

"Of course you are, you get this blank face when I talk about them."

"I simply think that believing their example is the best we can follow isn't as good as you think."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because her Trip is _dead_." There is a pause. She seems slightly embarrassed by her own words, and Trip is too surprised to reply.

T'Pol's gaze wanders, not focusing on him. She has her fists closed, her knuckles white. She opens and closes her mouth several times, but no word comes out. And she shivers, as if there is something bigger than her trying to burst out.

Trip extends his arms to embrace her, but she steps back quickly, almost defensively. "Every time you talk about them, it provokes in me a negative physical reaction," she manages to say under her breath.

"It hurts you," he translates.

"Yes."

"But I wasn't talking about them to make you—"

"I know, but the effect is the same." She averts her eyes again. Trip knows she does it every time that her emotions are too powerful to deal with them properly. "There are things that preoccupy me. I don't usually talk about the Captain or Sim, I never mention our relative life spans. There are things I don't mention, because they remind me of the irreversibility of the end. And I don't want, I don't _need_ such a warning."

Trip waits for her to continue. He knows she must reason it out, that this is how she makes her way through troubling situations.

"As you know, I'm not a very… social person. I'm quite solitary, even by Vulcan standards." She gazes at him for a second, almost shyly. "I don't have many close acquaintances and some of those… they died. In some ways, that has influenced my behaviour."

"Death is difficult for everybody, T'Pol."

"No, it's different for you Humans. When I said I envied you and your way of dealing with such strong emotions, I was sincere. I can't do that. Vulcans don't only deal with the death of a close person for a short time after it happens. We deal with it_ all_ our lives. And if you die when you are young, when I still have many years to live… it will be painful for all those many years."

The entire situation is painful, Trip notices. And he discovers suddenly that, for all he likes listening to her real feelings and worries, it's a double-edged sword. Should they go on, even if that hurts her?

"Do you want to end this?" he offers, although his heart pinches at the idea of not touching her skin anymore.

"No," she answers, categorically.

"You're not just doing this for my sake, are you?"

T'Pol arches a brow. Trip winces. Does an invisible gnome live inside his brain just to make him say such stupid things?

"I assure you, I'm not doing this for your pleasure solely. As you said once, there are two people in this dance."

Trip laughs nervously. There is something unsettling about T'Pol's perfect memory. "Well, that's true. Lorian told me he saw his parents dance once."

T'Pol throws him a disgruntled look. "You talk too much about them."

"I wasn't trying to make you feel—"

"I realize that." She approaches him. Her stare is so fixed that he feels uncomfortable. "I suspect you use them as a proof against me. As a way to erase any doubt I might have regarding us. Do you think I have doubts?"

There is a part of his brain shouting to him _'Don't tell her!'_ almost hysterically. He ignores it. "Maybe, a little."

She raises her hand and caresses his jaw. It's becoming a common gesture for her. "I don't have any doubt about this. I'm with you because I want to be. We are together because _we_ want to be. Both of us. I can't talk about the future, but for now, I have no desire to end what we have. I don't need any parallel ship or universe or even any historical data telling me that there was a Human/Vulcan relationship before ours. It doesn't affect me and it shouldn't affect you. What happened or could happen is immaterial to us. This is our reality, Trip, the one we create by our decisions. That's the only thing that should concern us."

And this, he thinks, it's the most incredible declaration of love he has ever received. T'Pol can be very romantic, for a Vulcan. Trip smiles, unsure how to respond. Anything he could say somehow seems vacuous in comparison.

T'Pol stops stroking him and looks melancholy. Trip suspects he knows why.

"But don't you wonder what happened to other _Enterprise_?" he asks.

"Since they changed history and we didn't go back to the past, I assume their reality never happened and thus they don't exist anymore." She frowns, just a little. "However, that we can remember them perplexes me."

"Maybe… Maybe the memory will fade as time goes by."

"Yes, that is possible," she says.

Trip cracks a small smile. She's so good-hearted sometimes.

He takes her face in his hands and caresses her cheeks with his thumbs. An uncomfortable longing fills the atmosphere.

"It may sound stupid, but I'll miss them," he confesses.

T'Pol doesn't make a sarcastic remark, she doesn't contradict him, she doesn't argue with him; she just nods. Trip bends down to her and kisses her softly, almost with reverence. They languidly explore each other's mouths, trying to cope with that inexplicable feeling of loss. They kiss for the past they never had, for the memories they never created, for the family they never built. And when all that melancholy has passed by them and through them, they can face it at last, and make love for the present they have and for the future that will come.


	12. First Hour

**First Hour**

The door opens and Malcolm appears in the threshold, on an improvised stretcher. His chest and left hand are bandaged and he has the hazy gaze of a person high on painkillers. But he's alive.

"Hey, Mal, how are you doing?" Trip greets him and he shakes his healthy hand.

"It'sss… donnne…" he burbles.

"Great, pal." Trip says in congratulation. Then he looks at Hoshi.

"He's a little incoherent but he's sane," she explains. She sounds and looks tired, but there is satisfaction in her eyes. "We've disabled the Xindi weapon. It's destroyed, at last."

Trip embraces her. Hoshi has always been like a little sister to him and she's one of the few people among the crew who actually welcomes hugs. After all that has happened it's good to feel some comfort.

The rest of the team, all MACOs, walks by. Meanwhile T'Pol greets Hoshi. She isn't as effusive as Trip: she only strokes the Ensign's arm, though that is a real sign of affection in a Vulcan. She salutes the rest of the soldiers too, with a short nod for each of them.

Trip and T'Pol look at each other. Time stills. Then they embrace right there, in public, although it's probable that someone will notice them. It doesn't matter.

Because they're alive and together, and now they can even dream of a tomorrow.


	13. Letters

**Note:** Some of you will notice the attack of _loveadviser!_Trip again :-) But honestly, Trip is much more open and relationship wise than most men, even if I find difficult to understand _why_.

* * *

**Letters**

Trip goes to T'Pol's cabin in the first free time he has. He wants to discuss their future. The unspoken relationship and sporadic sexual relations were all right when they didn't know if they would survive to the next day. Now it's different. Now they have all their lives ahead of them. They must clarify their situation.

Besides, it sounds stupid and archaic all at once, but he feels a little dishonourable, sleeping with a woman without having serious intentions.

T'Pol is in her cabin, writing in a padd.

"Do you mind?" he asks.

"No."

Trip paces the room. "What are you doing?"

T'Pol is her usual unflappable self. "I'm writing letters to the families of the deceased crewmembers. I didn't have much time until now."

"Oh." He is slightly taken aback. This isn't a pleasant issue. "Can't you leave it to someone else?" Then he winces. What a stupid and cruel thing to say.

"I'm acting Captain. I have to attend all the responsibilities of the position, even the most unpleasant ones."

"Maybe it will be the last time. To write to Human families, at least. I don't know what the plans of the High Command are regarding you." There. He's said it.

T'Pol keeps her head down for a moment. Hesitation. It isn't good when she hesitates.

"T'Pol?"

"I've been considering formalising my service with Starfleet."

Trip's first reaction is surprise. Then delight. "Really? That's… That would be great."

T'Pol does her characteristic small shrug with one shoulder.

"But… why haven't you told me?" If she hasn't said a word about this, how many other things is she keeping to herself?

"I'm not sure yet."

He sits on her desk's corner. "You should have told me. Even if it had been nothing more than a fleeting thought. I think it would be wonderful if you were part of Starfleet. You've done more than anybody for this ship and you deserve to be officially part of this crew."

"The fact that I'm a member of Starfleet doesn't automatically mean that I will be assigned to this vessel."

Shit. That hadn't occurred to him. But how could Starfleet get it so wrong? "Where else would they put you? The _Enterprise_ is the logical choice. If you request this assignment I'm sure they'll accept it." He pauses, shaken by another thought. "You want to serve here, don't you?"

"Yes."

She could have said "yes, of course!" which would have been more satisfying, but less T'Pol-like. "Great," he says. "Then we will be comrades." He punches her arm playfully.

"We _are_ comrades," she points out.

Trip puts his hand on her shoulder to pat it. He changes it for a caress at the last moment. She stares at him, a low flame in her pupils. Suddenly the atmosphere changes totally. This has happened a lot with them since they began their romance. He bends down. His mouth stops at some inches from hers. He can feel her laboured breathing on his face. She is looking at his lips, but after a few seconds she averts her gaze and points it towards the padd on her desk. She seems torn.

"The letters…" she says, almost apologetically.

With pain in his heart (and under his belt), Trip lets her go. He changes the destination of his kiss from her mouth to her temple. T'Pol continues her previous task. Trip sits down on one arm of her chair, places a hand on her back and takes a look at her padd. What he reads makes him uneasy.

"T'Pol…"

"Yes?"

"Is this the letter you are going to send to Major Hayes' family?"

"Yes."

"Isn't it a little… cold?"

T'Pol gazes at him, then she turns back to her padd and studies its content. She seems perplexed. "I've used the recommended wording."

"Yeah…" Trip clears his throat. "Look, I'm not saying you're doing it wrong, but we're a small group and we know each other. And since you have time, maybe you could be a little more… personal."

"Will the families expect that? I'm following what the manual proposes."

"I know, I know, I'm not criticizing you. I'm aware that this is difficult. It's just… Well, maybe, since our crew isn't so big and since this ship is so unique and our mission so dangerous… It's possible that the families will want to have more information. And maybe Jon would do the same… Maybe any other Captain would too, but… Well, in their case the families couldn't blame their… I mean, they wouldn't assume….

"You believe the families will assume the impersonal nature of the letters is a consequence of my Vulcan heritage and not the common custom of Starfleet bureaucracy."

Trip sighs, relieved. "Yeah, exactly."

"But I'm following the recommended Human procedure."

"Of course. But you know that reality and _the perception_ of reality aren't the same."

T'Pol squints. A sign of irritation. "I don't see the problem," she says. "If they consider that my behaviour has been improper they can appeal to Starfleet. The _Human_ superior officers will explain them the situation."

"If you say so…"

T'Pol takes the padd again and throws it a puzzled look. "Then what should I write?"

"I don't know… Just be more personal… Talk about the person, why they were respected, how they died… those kind of things."

"I've specified how they died," she answers defensively.

"And do you think that's enough? The letter should contain more information than just an official cause of death."

"It's what my mother and I had when father died."

T'Pol has never talked about her father to him before. "Did you receive a letter like this?"

"Yes."

"How old were you?" Two intimate questions in a row. It's a little risky, but Trip feels she's about to open her heart.

"I was twelve."

"That's very young. Did you see the letter when it arrived?"

"Of course, mother read it to me."

Picturing that scene makes him shiver. "It had to be terrible."

T'Pol doesn't even shrug. She's very still. Trip wants to ask how he died, but he suspects she isn't ready for that yet.

"Did you like the letter?"

She reacts to this and glares at him as if he had insulted her. "It reported on my father's death."

"Yes, but did you think its content was enough? Or would you have desired something more?"

T'Pol turns her head away. Trip can see the answer in her sad gaze.

"Then don't do the same to those families," he says softly. He extends his hand to stroke her head, but he thinks better of it. "Tell them what you would have liked to hear."

She remains with her head tilted a long time, then she nods. Trip gets up from her chair and sits down on the bunk. Although T'Pol is much more tolerant of him invading her personal space these days, Trip suspects she needs for him to back off a little now.

Besides, he still needs to ask her the question that bugs him. This time is as good as any. Her defences are low, at least. Even if it's a little sneaky…

"T'Pol."

"Yes?"

She's writing and doesn't turn to him. Maybe it isn't a good idea.

"Do you want something?" she asks.

"Are we…?" He clears his throat. "Are we in a romantic relationship?"

She raises her head and stops writing. She doesn't turn around, though. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know… Are we an official couple? Are we going out? Can I call you "my girlfriend"?"

T'Pol is pensive for a moment. "Are we a couple by Human standards?"

"Well… I really…" He shuts up. Thousands of thoughts fight to win the argument inside his brain. At the end he decides to say what it is in his heart: "I think we are. Yes, _we are_."

"Then we are a couple. We have a romantic relationship," she concedes.

Trip blinks. Was it really that easy? She has just accepted the reality of their relationship without a fight. It staggers him: she can argue for two hours about the toothpaste and how its right place is on the shelf and not on the sink, but she takes the evolution in their relationship with a naturalness that amazes him. She simply accepts it.

They are officially going out.

He smiles and watches how she writes in her padd. The room is quiet and smells faintly of candles. He feels he's getting a glimpse of their future domestic life.

He likes it.


	14. There Is No Place Like Home

**There Is No Place Like Home**

The Cap'n should be here. If he were, Trip wouldn't have to be there to give this mission debriefing to a room full of senior Starfleet staff.

"The available information about the _Seleya_ is quite limited."

_And_ Soval.

"That's what the Cap'n wrote."

"As I said, it's quite insufficient."

"T'Pol went with him, maybe you should talk with her."

Soval's face shows that Trip has hit home. "We already did."

"And?"

"She had very little to add."

Trip smiles. _That's my girl_.

At Soval's arched brow he grows serious again. "Is there anything else?" he asks.

The Human officials glance at each other, a little unsettled. Soval's face doesn't change.

"Yes, Commander," Admiral Forrest speaks. "It's time to discuss a promotion. After Captain Archer's… death and the mission's success, it is time to officially appoint a new Captain."

Trip beams, proud of T'Pol. "I'm sure she will do a magnificent job."

Forrest blinks. He seems quite taken aback. "Her experience will be a real advantage to Starfleet," Trip adds.

"Well, her lack of real experience is what forced us take this decision."

"Lack? She's had over 30 years in space and she led the mission against the Xindi. What more could you ask for?"

"Commander…"

"Yes?"

"Let me get this straight… Are you talking about T'Pol?"

"Yes, isn't she going to be appointed Captain?"

"She's Vulcan," Forrest answers with delicacy.

"So? She's decided to take a commission at Starfleet, hasn't she?"

Soval reacts to this with the face of a man who has caught his genitals under a big chest's lid but can't cry out. "Yes, she informed us about this… eventuality," he croaks.

"So, then…" Trip begins.

"T'Pol has experience, yes, but her service in Starfleet has not been long enough for us to appoint her Captain and besides…" Forrest coughs and looks away. "She's not…" He coughs again. "We can't promote her to Captain."

"Wait a minute. Then, who were you talking about?" Trip asks, half-angry and half-flabbergasted.

"About you, of course. We want to promote you."

This is Trip's greatest dream and worst nightmare at the same time. _Captain Tucker_, it sounds wonderful, full of victory trumpets and amazed exclamations. He has always wanted it, but not like this. Not because they lost Jon, and not, of course, by stepping over T'Pol.

"I feel honored, Admiral, but I can't accept it."

"Commander, think this over."

"T'Pol should be Captain. She has the experience and she's the one who led us on this mission. Is thanks to _her_ that we are alive."

"For a time it was _you_ who commanded _Enterprise_," Forrest counteracts.

"A short time, til T'Pol came back."

"But in that short period you saved your crew from certain death," Soval points out.

"Who says that?"

"T'Pol," Soval answers gravely. "She praised you. A great deal, I must add."

Trip can feel his face burn. "T'Pol should be captain," he hisses stubbornly.

"She can't be," Forrest answers.

"Why?"

"She's Vulcan."

"So what? Nobody in our crew minded it. Ask them! She's been a wonderful Captain."

"I'm afraid it's too early in our program to… make that an official step."

Trip clenches his fists. Politics! He thought Starfleet was free of them, but it seems he was wrong. "I'm not going to be Captain of the _Enterprise_ over her. I refuse."

"We weren't going to hand command of _Enterprise_ to you," Forrest informs him.

Trip scowls, but lets him talk.

"_Enterprise_ is a ship with an experienced crew that needs a captain. And a few months from now we will launch her sister ship: the _Columbia_, a ship with a strong captain, but an inexperienced crew. What we want to do is transfer Captain Hernández to the _Enterprise_ and make you _Columbia_'s captain."

Trip is too shocked to talk. The _Columbia_… A new ship for him. It's tempting, but still… "But what about the others on _Enterprise_? What about T'Pol?"

"They'll remain onboard. We hope that its experienced crew will be able to compensate Hernández for her lack of it. About T'Pol… she will be appointed Commander and she'll stay as the Science and First Officer."

Trip has to play it carefully. "Is there any chance she can come to the _Columbia_? I could do with the help of a veteran First Officer."

"She will be more helpful to Hernández."

"Besides," Soval intervenes, "It would be more _efficient_ to put you two experienced senior officers in different vessels."

Trip tries not to stare. What does he know?

"We have already talked with… _Commander_ T'Pol about this," Forrest says. "She has agreed with us."

Trip rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Why didn't she say anything?

"There isn't any logical reason to reject your promotion, Commander Tucker," Soval states.

Trip frowns. Logic dictates that he takes advantage of this opportunity, but he's never been entirely logical. He isn't stupid either. "I'll think about it and give you an answer soon," he promises.

"I don't know what do you have to think about, but we'll respect your decision," Forrest says. "Dismissed."

Trip salutes and turns round. He sees Captain Hernández sitting down in one of the chairs at the end of the room. She looks back at him with restrained sympathy. As Admiral Forrest and the rest of the officers go past him, Trip barely manages to give them a nod. All his attention is for Hernández. She stands up at last, a slow movement that comes more from obligation than from desire. Trip walks toward her. When they are face to face he shrugs, like an ashamed child.

"Congratulations, Captain," she whispers.

"I haven't said yes yet," he protests.

"You will." Her smile is sage and sweet, over laden by sadness.

Trip shrugs again. There are so many things he wants to tell her, about the Cap'n and how he used to sing her praises. But he can't talk. They're only words and words, suddenly, seem too little.

She nods, perhaps understanding, and embraces him. She smells of soap and coffee, he notices. Her arms clutch him with the strength that sprouts from despair. Trip allows to be crushed. There is something cathartic in her open feelings.

Hernández releases him, smiles, nods again like a mother approving her son's behaviour, pats one of his arms and goes out.

Trip sighs.

"Commander," Soval's voice sounds.

He turns to look at the Ambassador.

"Although I had my differences with Captain Archer, I wanted to express my condolences." He makes a dramatic pause. "I grieve with thee."

Trip just nods, unable to answer him. Expressions like "hypocrite" aren't too diplomatic.

They walk out together in the awkward "not too near lest you give me an illness" way. They are met by a newcomer. It's T'Pol.

"Captain!" Trip exclaims. "I mean Sub— I mean, Commander."

Her eyes sparkle with amusement. She doesn't answer, conscious of Ambassador Soval. The Vulcan diplomat only pauses to greet her and then moves on.

"Captain," T'Pol says when Soval has disappeared.

"You _knew_," he accuses her.

If he thought he could make her feel ashamed he's failing miserably. She stares at him, her eyes as calm as a lake.

"I haven't said yes, you know."

T'Pol does blink at this information. "Why not?" she wants to know.

"You deserve it more than me."

"But it is you who Starfleet wants to promote."

"That doesn't make it right. You should be Captain."

"If the superior officers think you're more qualified, I don't find any argument to contradict them."

"They don't want to promote you because you're Vulcan. Starfleet isn't going to give one of its ships to a Vulcan."

Maybe telling her the truth isn't very wise, but Trip always tries to tell her the truth. If he wants their relationship to work, he has to.

"I understand that," she says.

"What?"

"As I told you once, _Enterprise_ needs a Human Captain more than a Vulcan one."

"That's bullshit, T'Pol. You led us against the Xindi and you did a hell of a job."

"I couldn't have done it without you," she confesses matter-of-factly. "And even with your help the task was exhausting. I question my capacity to command a ship for an extensive period of time. In fact, I'd rather not find out."

Trip isn't sure what to say. He was so busy trying to defend her ability that the idea of T'Pol not wanting to be a Captain didn't cross his mind.

"So… you're cool with this?"

"Yes. The position of Science Officer is the one I'm best prepared for." She strokes his uniform's front. "Although I admit that my stay aboard the _Enterprise_ will be less enjoyable without you."

"I haven't accepted."

"You will, of course. It would be illogical of you to refuse."

He's about to argue. Then he remembers he has never won an argument against her. It would be outrageous if it wasn't for the fact that he loves it. He loves her. Even with her funny little ways, especially _because_ of her funny little ways.

"I didn't know you were here." He changes the subject.

"I had nothing more productive to do."

Her ability to crush his ego is almost uncanny. He bows his head and busies himself with the view of his right foot drawing semicircles on the ground. "So… do you want to have lunch with me?" he mumbles.

"Yes, of course."

"Because if you have any other engagement…"

Even after all that has happened Trip feels a little insecure about her.

"I must finish my packing for the journey to Vulcan, but I have plenty of time."

Trip feels an unpleasant pang in his chest. He knew she had planned to visit her home planet during the shore leave, so he doesn't understand his sadness. Maybe he had expected her to abandon that idea and spend the free weeks with him. He could ask her to cancel her trip, but he doesn't want to seem too demanding or needy.

Meanwhile, T'Pol is looking faintly embarrassed.

"If you do not mind," she begins, "it would be practical to have your contact number. In case that I need to speak with you." She clears her throat. "If you consider that your parents wouldn't approve, you can refuse."

"My parents?"

"It's their home, after all."

"What are you talking about?"

T'Pol frowns like a child who after having a dip in the sea can't find her family on the beach.

"Aren't you going to visit them? You didn't talk much about it, but I'm sure I heard a fleeting comment on that subject."

Trip is surprised to discover two things: one, how little he tells her about himself and his future plans, and two, how much attention T'Pol pays to everything he says. It's almost flattering.

"No, I…" He rubs his forehead. "I… I called them and we talked… I decided… I decided not to go at the end. It would be awkward and…" He sighs. "It would be awkward."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"I was planning to supervise _Enterprise_'s repairs."

"For the entire leave?"

"Yes."

T'Pol's gaze darkens. She looks sideways to make sure nobody can hear them. "Trip, you must rest. Work is important, and I appreciate your dedication, but especially for Humans, leisure time is part of a well-balanced life."

"There's nothing else I particularly care to do," he complains.

T'Pol hesitates for a second. "You could come with me."

"To Vulcan?"

"Yes."

"But you're going to visit your mother."

"That's true."

If she takes him with her how will T'Pol explain it? Because her mother will ask. Hell, all the universe will want to discover the reason. He knows that. T'Pol must know that. He can see in her eyes that she's calculating the repercussions of her actions and he can see in the shadow of a smile on her lips how little she cares.

"O-OK, if you are sure…" he stutters.

"I'm sure."

"Then… all right." His smile is so wide he half-fears it will break his face. "I would love to." Suddenly he remembers something. "But I have to go somewhere first."

She tilts her head. She's obviously curious, but her Vulcan heritage doesn't let her investigate further. "How much time do you need?" she asks instead.

"A day."

"That is no problem. My flight is scheduled for two days from now."

She's so wonderful, so nice and understanding (except when she's obtuse as hell.)

"Come with me," he offers.

"On your mysterious expedition?"

He laughs.

"Yeah, come with me. I could use a little support."

"As you wish."

Trip laughs again and he is tempted to say that "as you wish" is another way to say "I love you," but he thinks better of it.

"All right, then first to my destination and then on to Vulcan," he declares. It looks easy when he says it like that. "By the way, where will I stay?"

"There's a guest room in my mother's house."

T'Pol isn't one to act with half-measures. When she makes something official, she makes it _official_. This turn in the conversation, however, gives him an opportunity to ask something that intrigues him.

"What does your mother know about me?"

"Nothing."

This answer almost discourages him until he sees her confident face.

"What will she know after our stay?" he asks.

Her gaze is calm and reassuring.

"Everything."

* * *

"Hi, Lizzie."

Obviously the monolith erected as a memorial for the seven million deaths in the Xindi attack doesn't answer. He touches the screen that stands in front of the everlasting flame and searches for the name.

_Elizabeth Tucker_

_(2123-2153)_

"I find you at last, Lizzie. I'm sorry I didn't come earlier. I've been busy, saving the world and all that." He sighs. Joking is a way to avoid the pain, to cope with it. "I'm sorry for not visiting you before. It hurt too much. It still does. It doesn't matter that we've saved Earth, that doesn't compensate your… loss. I felt guilty." He exhales. "I _feel_ guilty. T'Pol says it isn't good for me, but I can't help it. With her it's easier though." He wipes away an incipient tear. "I talked about T'Pol to you, haven't I? Yes, the Vulcan high and mighty princess." He frowns. "Actually, I was mistaken. She isn't like that at all. She is fantastic. Compassionate, intelligent, pretty… everything that a man can ask for."

He looks backwards. The Vulcan is several meters away with her hands clasped behind her back, far enough to avoid listening to his speech even by accident. She is observing her surroundings. Trip smiles and turns to the gravestone again.

"Do I sound like a love-sick puppy? Well… maybe it's because I am. It looks crazy, I know. Believe me, if somebody had told me this two years ago I would have kicked his ass. But here I am… with a Vulcan as a girlfriend." He extends his arms and shrugs. "I couldn't help it. And she couldn't either. Two lonely people comforting each other in the middle of the space. But it's more than that now." He suddenly feels shy. He's telling her sister very intimate things, after all. "I think… I think it's serious, Lizzie. _Very_ serious. A 'formal engagement' kind of serious." He smiles again, an automatic nervous reflex. "We really haven't talked about it, we're taking our relationship step by step, but I'm surer and surer about it as time goes by. There will be obstacles, of course, I know it isn't going to be easy, and I didn't even tell her how I feel with the demanded three words, but I'm sure about this." He swallows. "I think our trip to Vulcan will be the perfect time for us to talk about it. Oh, haven't I told you? I'm going to Vulcan! Yeah, can you believe it? Your old bro' on Vulcan. I'm really excited by the prospect." He smiles mischievously. "I'm going to stay in T'Pol's mommy's house. Do I make a pass to T'Pol in her own home or do I behave? Mmmm… tough decision…" He laughs openly. "I'll tell you." He grows grim again. "I'll tell you, yes. I will come back… I promise. I'm not going to forget you, Lizzie."

A sudden wind agitates the flame. Trip takes it for an assent.

"Well, time to go. This has been nice. We'll do it again, OK?" He inhales slowly and then exhales all the oxygen, as T'Pol has taught him. "Good bye, Lizzie."

He remains standing up for a moment while the sun warms his back and the silence answers his goodbye. Then he turns round and walks toward T'Pol. She welcomes him with her head tilted and a questioning look in her hazel eyes.

He takes her hand and lets her guide him from the spirit world to the living world.

* * *

It must be difficult for somebody not used to living on Vulcan.

The thin atmosphere makes difficult to breath, the gravitational force slows movements down and the heat… the heat makes everything worse.

Probably that's the reason he's wheezing like a cornered animal while his reddened eyes glance everywhere. Except at her.

"So, you're seriously thinking in marrying this… this… _Koss_?"

T'Pol tries to find a reasonable reply, but she fears any of her attempts will sound too cold, too unemotional: too Vulcan. She answers anyway. "Koss can give my mother her position back."

"I can't believe it! You almost don't speak with your mother, she obviously thinks you're a disappointment and you can't stand her, but you're ready to marry _for her_?"

"My mother resigned because of my actions, it is my obligation to fix it."

Trip cracks a cutting smile. "For a species that is proud to repress emotions, your mother sure knows how to commit emotional blackmail."

T'Pol folds her arms. There is no need to insult her mother. Even if a part of her agrees with him.

"This has nothing to do with her. It's my choice. My _obligation_."

Trip exhales a controlled groan and walks up and down, as if he were seriously injured. "Please…" he says at last.

He looks at her, all hurt in blue tones. "T'Pol…"

Before she can reply, he takes her face between his hands. T'Pol is flooded by his powerful emotions: desperation, fury, frustration… and love. A love so overwhelming that it makes her heart ache.

"Don't do this to you," he says under his breath.

"I… I must…"

"T'Pol!"

"She's my mother."

"It's _your_ life."

She fights her emotions, as she always does, and tries to be the reserved Vulcan everybody wanted her to be.

"It's my fault. I owe her."

"You owe her nothing!" Trip wheezes a little more. "Please, don't ruin your life." He grasps her head more forcefully, as if he is trying to physically imprint his desires on her. "Please, don't destroy your life… Please, T'Pol, I love you… don't destroy _our_ lives!"

She looks directly into his eyes. They're the same blue as Earth's sky when she saw it for the first time. She thought then that it looked wider than Vulcan's. And more free. They don't look anything like Koss's. She didn't care until this very moment. She was ready to tolerate those eyes, that husband, that marriage and that life. She would bear the pain. It was her choice, after all. Her responsibility. Her life. She was the only one to be affected by it, wasn't she?

T'Pol caresses Trip's jaw and makes her decision.

Because now she realizes it's not only her life. It's _their_ life.

* * *

The muffled humming of the warp engine fills her ears. Vulcan vessels are quieter, but they had no other choice than taking a Human ship from Jupiter to Earth.

She can't sleep anyway.

"I think your mother understood you, at the end," Trip's voice sounds in the half-light.

T'Pol turns her head to gaze him. The fake aquarium on the wall outlines his eyes and his naked chest. They're on bed, apart by mere inches. Maybe T'Pol has decided to spend the rest of her life with him (even without an official ceremony), but she doesn't feel like cuddling yet.

"She knew she couldn't do anything to change my mind. It was illogical to argue."

His smile is a pearly flash.

"Well, Koss tried."

"Until you made your _claim_."

Trip's smile deepens.

"Was it necessary to kiss me in front of him and his family?" she asks, a little irritated.

"Absolutely."

"With tongue?"

"It cleared up everything."

She scowls at him, like a teacher with a mischievous child. He laughs. She isn't really mad at him. She can't be. He has saved her from a depressing life. A life without love. T'Pol remembers the days when she thought love was a Human myth with no meaning or practical use. She was an entirely different woman then. A woman to be pitied.

Trip caresses her hair. His eyes are soft and sympathetic.

T'Pol leans on his chest, victim of a sudden and rare impulse. His pleasant smell fills her nostrils and she can feel every time he takes and exhales breath. And behind all that, she can listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady.

T'Pol sighs, pure contentment resounding in her mind. She has never heard anything so beautiful.


	15. Bordering Bliss

**Bordering Bliss**

"The _Columbia_ looks great from your cabin!" Trip says and points at it with his index finger, until it can go no further because the glass.

T'Pol stops putting her clothes out of the suitcase and approaches him. Her brow is arched. She takes an unimpressed look at the docked ship.

"_Columbia_ is virtually identical to _Enterprise_."

Trip throws her a dirty glare. T'Pol receives it impassively. There is a mischievous glow in her eyes, though.

"Your sense of humor is horrible," he says.

"Vulcans don't have sense of humor."

Trip sighs, faking frustration. Then he laughs. It's so wonderful to be able to know _exactly_ what she means and when she's joking, after so many misunderstandings.

"As I was saying, _Columbia_ looks impressive. I'm eager to put my hands on her engines."

"I must remind you that you are the _captain_ now. There is a Chief Engineer in the _Columbia_ and I'm sure she will see your interest more like interference than support."

"You like to spoil all my fun, don't you?" he asks, swiftly depressed.

"I was merely giving advice."

Advice. The last couple of days T'Pol had been full of advice. At first he thought she was just worried for him; he has a horrible record of accidents on away missions, after all. But now he suspects that she is trying to lower _Columbia_'s advantages, to make him realize what he's leaving behind. Or, to be precise, _who_ he is leaving behind. She would categorically deny this, of course.

He caresses the sides of her face with both hands. "_I_ should be giving advice to you. I've heard about an attack to a Klingon ship and that _your_ Captain wants to speak with Dr. Soong. I bet you'll heading off on a dangerous mission in no time." He tries to sound teasing, but he's quite worried.

"Klingons don't impress me," she assures him, in the cocky way he dislikes. "Any other advice, Captain Tucker?"

"Yes, obey your captain, dress warmly, don't talk to strangers, be friendly in class, don't hit other children, share your meal with your little friends, and, most important of all, _take care_."

She kisses him when he stops babbling. "I'm Vulcan, I'm cautious by nature," she says so near his mouth that her soft words seem another kiss.

"I'm serious, T'Pol."

She crosses her arms behind his neck. There is no space between their bodies. "Yes, I know." Kiss. "We both are professionals." Kiss. "And it is my duty to remind you that you must leave this ship and gain control of your own."

Hell, if she doesn't stop her kissing and nibbling and touching, he will _lose_ control and how is he going to explain it to his waiting officials? Sorry, but my Vulcan girlfriend is irresistible? Which is true, but still…

So he grits his teeth and detaches himself from her alluring arms. T'Pol clasps her hands behind her back and steps back. She looks absolutely composed. Great, a very intimate part of his anatomy is ready to be used as a coat rack and she isn't even a little flushed. It's not fair. In fact, it's very cruel.

"I will make this up to you when I come back," she says and her voice is soothing and soft, like the prospect of a hot bath on a chilly winter day.

Trip smiles and studies her as if he's trying to imprint her image in his mind. The same old T'Pol: standing tall (although she's rather petite), dressed in blue (his favorite color), with tipped ears slightly colored in green (more than usual), short brown hair cut in the Vulcan style (but bangs brushed to the right making her expression softer) and a blank face (that, in fact, irradiates a warm kindness). The usual T'Pol, the one that was, is and will be.

Trip suffers an abrupt pang in his chest and strides toward her to embrace her again. He smells the fragrance of her hair. It's curious how something so small can make his heart ache.

"I will miss you so so much," he says against her forehead.

T'Pol sighs and tightens her embrace. Her lips brush his neck like raindrops. "The separation from you will be a difficult experience for me too," she whispers.

Their remain like this for five long minutes, then T'Pol, always the professional, breaks their embrace.

"Time to go," Trip says.

T'Pol nods. She puts a strong face, just for him. Trip touches her cheek a last time and kisses her lightly on the mouth. When he is about to retire, T'Pol raises her right hand, with the index and middle fingers extended.

The Vulcan kiss. T'Pol is quite unorthodox, but follows some traditions stubbornly. Greetings and goodbyes using the Vulcan kiss are one of them. Trip emulates her gesture and brushes her fingers with his. He feels fleeting sensations of love, desire, worry and sadness.

"May Surak's Logic lead your steps," she says solemnly.

Trip just nods. It's difficult to respond with anything that sounds as wise.

Once outside, he has to stop. The air seems full of an overpowering feeling all around him. Trip breathes in.

A new life.


	16. Leap of Faith

**Leap of Faith**

_'__Sheisalive, sheisalive, sheisalive, sheisalive.'_

Trip paces up and down inside his cabin on _Columbia_.

Yes, she is alive, she _has to be_. Even if any communication with the _Enterprise_ has been cut off since its assigned mission to discover the culprit of the Earth Embassy bombing, it means nothing. It's a very delicate mission, after all. And top secret. Not even he knows its details.

So, it's normal to be short of any information about T'Pol. Absolutely understandable.

Besides, if something had happened to her he would know it. Yes, he would. Trip can't explain how he can be sure about this, but he is. It's a feeling inside him, like a string that connects him to T'Pol. If something happens to her, he will sense it.

The only thing he can do now is pace around his quarters on _Columbia_ and repeat the same idea, like a mantra:

_'__Sheisalive, sheisalive, sheisalive__…'_

* * *

She keeps embracing her, even when she's aware her heart isn't beating any longer.

But what can she do? What can anybody do when one's mother has just died in one's arms?

A part of her mind, the rational part, _the Vulcan_ part, exhorts her to bury the corpse quickly and to accompany T'Pau and Lieutenant Reed in their journey to take the Kir'Shara to the High Command.

But the little and stubborn part that clings to her mother doesn't move.

She can hear Lieutenant Reed kneeling in front of her.

"My child, you must let her go," he says.

T'Pol looks at him, astonished by his words and by his condescending tone. She notices this man isn't Lieutenant Reed; it isn't his voice, it isn't his expression, it isn't his stare. This person is a Vulcan with rounded ears.

"She's my mother," T'Pol manages to whisper.

"I know. I grieve with thee, but embracing her won't bring her to life. Honor her, remember her, but continue on your path. You have a life, you have people who lean on you and on whom you lean. You must let her go for them."

So she does. She thinks of the mission. She thinks of Vulcan's welfare. She thinks of a certain blond man who has to be worried about her.

She takes refuge in the future to fight an unbearable present.

* * *

The moment she sees his face on the little screen of her cabin she feels better.

"T'Pol! Thank God you're… all right," he exclaims.

Obviously, the sentiment is mutual. "Captain," she answers with apparent calm.

He gapes.

"Trip," she corrects herself. It's difficult to change one's habits.

He beams. His smile brightens the Universe. Two seconds later, however, he has a long face. "Is everything OK? Are you doing… all right?" he asks, a worried light in his eyes.

"Yes."

"Captain Hernández contacted me earlier," he confesses.

So that was why it had taken so long to reach him. "Has she briefed you about the mission?"

"Uh-huh."

"So you know about my mother's death."

"T'Pol, I'm so sorry. I wish I was there."

"Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary."

"T'Pol… C'mon, T'Pol, I know how you are, but really, you don't have to hide your feelings from me. I'm here to help you in anything you need."

"I'll remember that."

"T'Pol…" He sighs. "Look, at first it's difficult but—"

"Trip. I… I don't want to talk about it. I don't _need_ to talk about it. I'm Vulcan, we deal with death in a different manner. I would appreciate if you respected my heritage."

"Yes… Yes, of course." He shuts up for a moment, staring at her with a worried face. "But if you feel the need to talk… Anytime… I'm all ears."

T'Pol simply nods; not even the mention of her ears can spark a response from her.

"So." Trip keeps talking as if he's trying to lighten the mood. "I've heard that Malcolm and… the other Vulcan… _whatshername_?"

"T'Pau."

"Yeah, her. I've heard that the two of them got into the city thanks to ‛the one who shall not be named'."

"Koss."

"Yes, _him_." Trip smiles sheepishly. "Luckily he isn't a resentful individual."

"_Luckily_ he is a Syrranite."

"Oh? Ohhhh… That explains a lot of things."

"Yes, it somewhat justifies my… mother's behavior when she tried to marry me to him." T'Pol swallows. The memory is just too recent. She still feels a pang every time she remembers her mother. Just as she knows it will never fade away. She will have to learn to control it and live with it, as she did with her father.

"Everything will be all right," Trip says in a soft and compassionate voice.

And for the first time in her life, T'Pol believes it.


	17. Convergence

**Convergence**

In other circumstances they would talk first. That's how they work, as individuals and as a couple. Conversation, especially banter, is part of their preliminaries.

But not today.

They have been apart for too many months, with only the consolation of cold video conferences, and when they are reunited it's because the _Enterprise_ needs urgent repairs after a Klingon attack and they only met to work relentlessly to save a sorry bunch of Klingon augments from annihilation.

It's their first time alone since Trip came onboard. Hernández must have suspected his desperation since she asked him and T'Pol to leave her alone in the infirmary.

Trip isn't sure how they got to T'Pol's cabin, but in this moment, with his tongue in her mouth, his body pressed up against hers and his hands frantically reacquainting themselves with her angles and curves, he really doesn't care. He has never felt anything so intense. His mind remembers briefly T'Pol's words about a 'mate bond' and how it allows the sharing of feelings and thoughts. Trip stops thinking rationally when T'Pol does a wonderful thing with her tongue. Do the Vulcans take classes on this or what?

The cabin's temperature has reached the boiling point. Or that's what it feels like. Time to get undressed. All those clothes only hinder his movements, after all. One of his arms gets caught on the sleeve. Desperate, he pulls to free it. Something breaks, he doesn't know if it's the uniform or a bone. He couldn't care less, since T'Pol's lips are caressing the flesh of his neck. He tries to return her gesture with equal enthusiasm, but the isothermal fabric covers her chest. T'Pol, always efficient, removes the obstacle with three precise motions. Thanks God she hasn't put on underwear. He takes her in his arms and they immerse themselves in the comfort of each other.

And after that, all that Trip can recall is an abstract sensation of movement, warmth, smoothness and giving himself over to pleasure.

The French call it _"la petit mort"_.

And what a way to go.

* * *

Trip doesn't miss cuddling as much as he feared.

Mostly this is because T'Pol radiates more heat than him and makes it difficult to sleep or even be near her in the small bed in her cabin. They'll have to try it in a bigger bed, or on a frozen planet. That could be fun. For now he makes do with caressing her skin with two fingers. T'Pol slaps them to stop him without turning round.

"What are you doing?" she asks, still not facing him.

"The curve of your neck fascinates me." He takes his hand upwards. "And your ears."

"You should have gotten over that fascination by now. They are normal Vulcan ears."

"Yes… They're small… and pointy. So cute…"

T'Pol _does_ turn to him this time. "They are just ears. Two body appendages at each side of the head."

Trip smiles and keeps caressing the right one. T'Pol closes her eyes. After a second, she shudders and exhales a sigh. Vulcan ears are hypersensitive. He brings his mouth nearer to kiss her. T'Pol wrinkles her nose and moves her head away.

"You stink," she declares.

Vulcan females' sense of smell is also hypersensitive.

"Uh, sorry… I should take a shower," Trip mumbles.

"That's a good idea."

He cracks a nervous smile and he goes past her. T'Pol puts a hand on his cheek to stop him. "Don't be long," she says and kisses him on the side of his mouth.

Trip's smile gets wider until it becomes a big grin. It's wonderful how much T'Pol has learned about Human feelings and how not to hurt them.

When he's midway to the bathroom he looks backwards and sees T'Pol extend her arm to take a padd from the shelf over the bed.

"Afraid of getting bored?"

"I have to analyse some data," she explains.

"Are you going to work? _Now_?"

She shrugs. He takes pity on her.

"C'mon, don't be a workaholic." He smiles. A naughty idea has crossed his mind. "Leave that and come with me."

"Where?"

"To the bathroom. Let's take a shower together."

T'Pol looks doubtful. "Is that safe? Remember what happened the last time."

Trip feels a sting in his kidneys when he remembers.

"I only slipped once!" he replies. "C'mon, don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid."

"Then come. We'll have fun."

T'Pol arches a brow and one of the sides of her mouth rises a micromillimetre, like it does every time she finds something amusing. Trip feels hopeful. She doesn't disappoint him and gets up. Her naked body is like a monument in front of which Trip would make a burnt offering of his love.

Murphy's Law dictates that this is the perfect time for somebody to ring the bell. Which is exactly what happens.

Trip exhales a long-suffering sigh. T'Pol quickly begins to put on her silk robe.

When she opens the door, a Masaro on the verge of emotional breakdown appears in front of her.

"Is there something wrong, Ensign?" she asks, while she's trying to block as much of her cabin from view as she can.

Masaro twists his hands. He looks sideways and then at her. "May I enter, Commander?"

"Is it really necessary? I'm not alone."

"If you are with Captain Tucker I need to speak with him too. This concerns the two of you."

T'Pol glances at Trip. Her face hasn't changed, but he can sense her uneasiness. Trip nods his permission.

T'Pol lets Masaro get in. The poor Ensign looks nervous to the point of sickness.

"First of all…" he begins. Then he stops and swallows. "F-first of all I wanted to say that… that I'm sorry."

"Why?" T'Pol asks.

Masaro stares at her for the longest moment. His eyes begin to fill with tears.

"I'm so very sorry!" he exclaims. "I didn't want to do it!"

"Do what?" T'Pol inquires. Trip can hear her exasperation.

"Take a seat, Masaro," Trip offers, trying to be helpful.

The young Ensign's knees bend and he drops onto the bunk. He's trembling. "I didn't want to do it," he repeats over and over again.

Trip puts a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down. Tell us what happens," he asks with his most soothing voice.

Masaro nods and swallows his tears. "I didn't want to help them. After the Xindi attack I was confused and they used it against me. But then our mission began and…" He looks at T'Pol, his face red with shame. "And you commanded the ship against them and we saved Earth… You, a Vulcan, saved Earth," he emphasizes his words to make his opinion clear. "I tried to quit the organization then, but they didn't let me… They said they would ruin my life. And besides, they know my family…"

"Who are they?" Trip asks.

"A group called _Terra Prime_." He swallows his tears again. "I refused as long as I could. I swear! But they threatened my family. I didn't want to do it… but I had no options!"

"What have you done?" T'Pol questions. Her voice is as firm as a wall.

And then Masaro makes a confession that changes their lives forever.


	18. Frozen Dreams

**Frozen Dreams**

The room is strangely devoid of any life. It's cold, dark and impersonal.

_Terra Prime_ claims that its objective is to preserve Human existence, but its location on the Moon and the inhumanity of its installations contradicts this.

Trip approaches the metallic can on the table. He pulls one of the handles and a cylinder slides open to reveal its transparent contents. The liquid nitrogen creates a dancing mist around it. How curious that something so mundane could contain so much potential life. He tries to forget all the sacrificed possibilities. He and T'Pol couldn't enter into the adjoining laboratory; the MACOs who had assaulted the facilities told them something about experiments gone wrong to try to spare them the suffering.

As if that was possible.

Trip puts the frozen cylinder away. So much life. He feels the urge to hit something, to destroy all the equipment with his bare hands.

Instead, he looks at T'Pol. She's very still, as if she is working hard simply to breathe normally. He has never seen her so close to losing control.

And that shames him. It shames him to share common DNA with the monsters that have done this. Maybe Vulcans are right when they describe Humans as irrational and barbaric.

But when he approaches her, she doesn't blame him or his species. She leans on Trip and allows him to embrace her. When she talks, her voice is as sad as losing one's childhood: "Why?" she asks. Trip senses it's not being posed to him, but to the world. "Why did they do something like this? To prove our species are incompatible?"

"But that's not true!"

"They have been incapable of creating a viable child."

It's absurd to contradict that affirmation, but he does. "They're wrong. They're just incompetent. And cruel."

She doesn't answer and that makes him even more miserable. How dare these people destroy their happiness, their hope? He's not going to allow them. He _can't_. These monsters know nothing about them, as individuals or as a couple.

Trip puts his hand on her belly. As a couple, they can achieve _anything_.

"Do you want to try?" All his courage, all his faith is in his question.

T'Pol puts her hand over his. She takes her time answering.

"And if it is impossible?" Her voice has an uncharacteristic waver in it.

"That won't change what I feel for you."

His answer seems to calm her.

"Do we talk with Phlox?" he goes on. "When we return?**" **

She nods and looks at him with eyes that sparkle like a constellation. He keeps staring at her and is suddenly aware they're thinking the same thing.

Life is change and evolution.


	19. Epilogue: The End of the Beginning

**Epilogue: The End of the Beginning**

The monument is sober and solemn. The stone man points to the stars in imperturbable silence and only the legend at his feet reveals its identity: "In memory of Jonathan Archer, first Captain of the _Enterprise_."

"He is dead," Trip says.

T'Pol looks at him. His eyes are as blue as the open sky that enfolds the lush grass. The soft breeze carries away their child Elizabeth's laughter while she chases Porthos.

"But we are alive," Trip adds.

He cracks a small smile, between happiness and resignation. T'Pol holds his hand. Because he's right. They are alive; they have suffered, fought, failed, they have seen death and loss, but they have also enjoyed themselves, they have won, they have stood up again and again and they have seen hope and rebirth. They have lived. They are alive. They share a life.

That's the only thing that matters.

THE END

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, this is it. I hope you like it and that you find the end satisfactory. I'm aware that I could have written more scenes, but this story is _highly_ thematic, and I've chosen the ones that I've found necessary and no more. But, after this has been said, if somebody thinks there should be another scene and reasons out why or if somebody is _very_ interested in a fill-in, I could think about it :-)

And last but not least, I want to thanks **Alelou** again for her wonderful work as a beta and editor, she has improved this story in more than one way.


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